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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956613">Behind the Flashing Lights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiCalamity/pseuds/KiwiCalamity'>KiwiCalamity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Atypical - Freeform, Battle Scene, Break Up, Breakup, Brothers, Celebrities, Corruption, Crossmare - Freeform, Drink, F/M, Failed Relationships, Fun, Ink is a Bad Guy, M/M, Morally Grey, Multi, NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS, Nightcross, Original Characters - Freeform, Panic Attack, Plot Twist, Plot Twists, Post-Break Up, Romance, Undertale AU, Very Mild non-con, Villain Ink, bad breakup, break ups, celebrity, chaotic neutral, chaotic neutral cast, crossxnightmare - Freeform, different, dreamxink, ecto bodies, fight, kiwicalamity, magical skeleton logic, morally gray, morally gray gays, morally grey gays, not over a break up, outercode, technically a yandere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:20:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiCalamity/pseuds/KiwiCalamity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmare and Dream have always been enemies—no matter the AU, no matter the time line. They always, inevitably end up on opposite ends.... </p><p>...But what if it was all an act?</p><p>What lies behind the flashing lights and extravagant fights? What are the brothers hiding? What do the fans...not know?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crightmoss, Crossmare, Ink/Dream, Nightcross - Relationship, Nightmare/Cross, drink - Relationship, implied, sanscest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Two figures clashed in the sunset-silhouetted ruins of a once-bustling city. Maybe children once scampered across the charred park grass that the fighters' iron boots tore. Maybe the burst balloon in the blackened tree came from a graduation party. Morgenstern didn't know. This was once a place of joy. He could feel it. He could draw from those wilting dregs left behind by laughter and sunlit play. But the fresher, bitter suffering flowed to his brother's staff in shrieking tides.... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They flowed from the dark staff in the black-armored Jericho's grip. The shadowy tendrils lashed out at Morgenstern. He could barely make out the golden slash of his blade. The darkness quickly consumed the light. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Was he making progress? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Was he moving at all? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Morgenstern couldn't tell. As he beat his bronze wings in an attempt to escape the writhing hoard, he could only choke out a single cry, "Brother, why?" </em>
</p><p><em> He burst from the inky tide. A faint blue glow surrounded the black-armored guardian of negativity as he floated above the black sea he'd made.... He raised his staff, purple cloak billowing against the gray of gathering storm clouds. And Jericho simply smiled—if you could even call it that. It was more like a crescent-moon slit beneath his icy blue eyes. "Oh, Stern. Sweet, innocent, naive Stern.... </em> <b> <em>You could never understand my pain.</em> </b> <em> "  </em></p><p>
  <em> "But, brother, I—" Despaired, Morgenstern lowered his blade. Jericho's eyes flashed. And suddenly—he charged towards his positive counterpart.  </em>
</p><p><em> " </em> <b> <em>Enough!</em> </b> <em> This ends </em> <b> <em>tonight, </em> </b> <em> Stern!" The golden brother barely brought his sword up to counter. But the sudden strike knocked him off-balance. His bronze wings gave out. He grit his teeth as they plunged into the inky sea of negativity— </em></p><p>***</p><p>"Do you think I made my lines too cheesy?" Jeri kicked his feet up on the couch's cushioned forearm. Stern hummed as he skimmed through his brother's latest script. Anxiously, Jeri shuffled, plopped his head into Stern's lap. He pouted as he saw the smile trying to tug itself from the golden brother's focused face. "I think I made it too cheesy."</p><p>"Well, it's dramatic. And the Fans will eat that shit right up. They'll definitely love seeing you get the upper hand.... I've been winning too much. The Conspiracy Crew is going to have too much fodder for the 'this is fake!' hypothesis." Stern swat the script against Jeri's forehead. </p><p>"Everyone loves seeing the hero win." Jeri blew the offending piece of paper off of his head, glaring lightly. But Stern could see the mischievous twinkle to those bright blue eyes.</p><p>"Hey, you had your chance at a redemption arc! <em> You </em> said you <em> preferred </em>being the villain." He pinched his cheeks, stretching them into the smile he knew his brother hid behind that grumpy facade. Jeri squirmed, flailing in comic surprise before smacking the hands away. And there it was—that big, "evil" grin that his little brother loved to sport. It made Stern's own soft smile come into the light.</p><p>"Hehe~ true. Doesn't mean I don't like winning though."</p><p>"...I wonder how the Audience would react if <em> I </em>became a villain."</p><p>"Ooooh I'm listening." Jericho lurched up to pounce on his pencil and pad. The chaotic clutter of notes was never far from the smaller skeleton.... Sticky notes sprung from every corner. Stern chuckled. The little book always reminded him of his little brother's sporadic yet enthusiastic personality. He waited for his brother to eagerly spring back to the opposite side of the couch, wriggling closer with childish eagerness until their knees touched.</p><p>"So what if this negativity concentration in the 'sea of negativity' you made in the park 'corrupted' me?" Stern leaned his chin on his fist as his brother scribbled away.</p><p>"What if we both stayed evil?! That'd be awesome! And pretty unexpected. I mean, most people would expect <em> me </em>to turn good. But we both know that's not gonna happen~" Jeri snickered.</p><p>"Oho, a guardian brother duo? Turned evil? Sounds like a stupendous threat.... But who would stop us?" Stern cocked a brow. Jeri tapped his chin and then winced. The golden brother's brow rose further. </p><p>"...Pygma?" Jeri hesitantly suggested.</p><p>"...."</p><p>"...."</p><p>"Do we have no one else who could—?"</p><p>"Stern, he's the only one believably charismatic and powerful enough to get a team together to stop a corrupted brother duo."</p><p>"...I hate it when you're right, Jericho."</p><p>"Is <em> that </em>why you never let me win?"</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. No Press is Bad Press</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stern and Jericho can never have a normal day out, can they?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“—so my thought is we could dye your wings a bit darker, maybe have you wear more eye shadow—”</p><p>“Now, are we talking ‘slay all the gays’ eye shadow or ‘I’m a sobbing edgy raccoon’ eye shadow? Because I feel like my preference is obvious.”</p><p>“...Depends on how evil it makes you look.”</p><p>Stern huffed before taking a few gulps of the first coffee he thought sounded good. Jeri snickered as he sipped his grande quad hazelnut-caramel mocha. Public outings were...odd, for the brothers, to say the least.  As “enemies” anywhere outside their home, they had to be very careful when choosing disguises and locations. Because <b> <em>if </em> </b> <em> anyone </em>outside of the select few who really knew them, saw them? Well, they'd have to break into an impromptu fight. Sometimes Jeri held a few hostages and Stern rescued them—it wasn’t bad for sporadic PR.</p><p>That was—<b> <em>if </em> </b> <em> they were in the mood. </em></p><p>Neither brother liked it when a peaceful break was interrupted by a squealing fan when they were tired and, well, wanted a <em> break. </em> It was why they often took “lay-low” periods between the “seasons” of their “show.” For one thing, it left the Audience in suspense. For another? It was nice to just crash in another AU and just spend time together…. Today, however, they didn’t mind if one of their Fans saw them. In fact? They <em> wanted </em>them to.</p><p>Casually conversing in casual clothes, plans and diagrams splayed out between them, an “evil” chuckle or two from Stern—what better teaser for the coming “Evil Stern” arc could there be? Sure, the Conspiracy Crew might get more fodder. </p><p>“See!” they might cry out in their lonely fan blogs while sitting alone in the dark of their homes, “It’s all fake!”</p><p>But more of their Fans would just <em> talk. </em> They’d theorize. They’d wonder what could <em> possibly </em> be wrong with the pure, innocent golden brother! How could he <em> ever </em> converse with the Dark One? Blah, blah, blah, fake backstory, gossip, gossip, gossip, more fake backstory. It’d be fun to see their reactions once they revealed Stern had been “corrupted” in the scripted fight from a few weeks prior. They’d <em> mourn. </em>Ooooh, if only they could see the “evil” grin Stern hid in his coffee as he thought how some would sob over his turning a new leaf.</p><p>The brothers were technically in their lay-low period right now, actually. While the fans lay in wait, they planned and contacted the necessary people.</p><p>Though, speaking of which….</p><p>Stern’s eyes traced down to the magazine he’d purposefully buried under his sketches of next season’s costumes. And all the happiness drained from his golden-brass eyes as he glared long swords at Pygma’s photo-captured smirk. Jericho caught the look. The younger brother sighed. “You know I wouldn’t suggest him if I knew we had a better alternative, right?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“And you know the Fans love him, right?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“...We also have to do a signing with him.”</p><p>“Mh—<b> <em>w h a t </em> </b>?”</p><p>“It was scheduled before the... incidents….” Jeri carefully said as his brother’s eyes began to glow a burning, molten gold. “We can’t cancel now. There’d be a riot.”</p><p>“I must’ve fucking blocked it out.” Stern’s forehead thunked against the table. His hands clenched into shaking fists under the table. His teeth grit.</p><p>“Do you need a minute?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Alone?”</p><p>“<b> <em>Mhm</em> </b>.”</p><p>“Alright.” Jericho carefully slid out from their booth. The younger brother winced as he heard something stab into their table. He didn’t even have to look back to know Stern had probably taken the nearest sharp object and speared it through Pygma’s picture…. Hm, maybe he could order his brother a sweet or something? Maybe that’d cheer him up.</p><p>Meanwhile, Stern felt the white-hot rage pulsing through his veins. Just. Tried to breathe. Just tried to take deep breaths and focus himself. No need for murder, no need…. Just. Be here.</p><p>There were six other tables, two behind their own table, three across from theirs. <em> Breathe in </em> . They made neat lines across the checkerboard tile. <em> Breathe out </em> . There were three other customers lounging in red-plastic-cushion booths just like his and Jeri’s. <em> Breathe in </em>. One of the customers sat by himself in the booth opposite of them—a comparatively tiny skeleton, with a crisp suit and sunglasses. He nodded as he met Stern’s eye, and then returned to his book. </p><p>
  <em> Breeeeeeeathe out. </em>
</p><p>Stern started to feel normal again. Still annoyed at the prospect of—ah, best not to dwell on it. He didn’t want to do anything stupid as the conspiring customers seated diagonally from them seemed to come to a conclusion. A human and a lizard monster, maybe in their early 20’s, kept taking glances at Jericho. Stern followed their gaze.</p><p>Ah, his brother seemed to be having fun scaring the barista behind the counter. And aww, he’d gotten him a parfait! His favorite. His mouth started watering at the idea. Mmmm, he could already taste the sugar melting on his tongue! Sweets fantasies aside, he didn’t miss it when the lizard monster stood, walked by, and glared menacingly at him. The golden brother didn’t even look at him. </p><p>Oh he was soooo scared. Shaking in his boots, <em> really </em>. He didn’t even get up when the lizard made a grab for Jeri’s shoulder….</p><p>After all, it wasn’t his job.</p><p>Quick as a flash, the small, suited skeleton teleported behind the Lizard, judo flipped him onto the ground. The Lizard’s human friend approached. She backed off when a large blaster was pointed right in her face. The Human scrambled to collect the Lizard, and both stumble-sprinted out of the café. </p><p>Stern just took a nonplussed slurp of his coffee. “Well. We should probably leave before the Code Guard arrives. Unless someone wants to hold a barista hostage…?” </p><p>Jericho seemed to think about it for a moment, the poor barista shrinking behind the counter the longer he paused. </p><p>“Mm, no. I think that’s enough public exposure for me for one day." Jeri puffed out a breath. Stern slid out of their booth. “Plus she made a lovely parfait under pressure!”</p><p>“Perhaps we’ll have to come back, then. We’ll meet you back at our place, Sirius.” Stern pat their bodyguard’s shoulder. And the small, suited skeleton just nodded before teleporting away without another word.... Jeri plopped a few bills into the tip jar. The brothers looped arms before disappearing in a flash of sapphire and gold sparks.</p><p>The poor girl behind the counter slid to the ground, just clutching the jar to her chest as her heart pounded and sirens sang in the distance. Eventually, she curiously looked into the jar to see what the infamous villain had left behind.</p><p>Ironically, it was the best tip the barista had gotten all day…. </p><p>***</p><p>That night, the brothers cackled at their T.V. It was <em> hilarious </em> watching the Code Guard try to explain the table of sketches, cryptic plans, and Pygma’s defaced picture they’d left behind. The rabid reporters just ate all of it <em> right </em> up. And the <em> witnesses! </em> They conjured up some story about Jericho the Evil hypnotizing some random bystander into doing his dirty work. People were already wondering if the same might have been done to Morgenstern the Gold—but wasn’t he <em> immune </em>to his brother’s hypnosis?</p><p>It might not have been the PR they expected, but the brothers <em> certainly </em>weren’t going to complain….</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love my morally-gray gays.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Roaring Crowd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Shit gets real.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>PLEASE READ ME. Before I begin this chapter, I want to say a few things--first, that consent is very important to me. There’s a bit of MILD NON-CONSENSUAL CONTENT here, but nothing explicitly sexual. So I don't think it warrants a tag on the whole story, but please let me know otherwise? Secondly, there’s basically a PANIC ATTACK--though, I'm not sure if that's technically what happens? So that's why I say basically.</p><p>If either of these things make you uncomfortable, there will be a BRIEF DESCRIPTION of what happens in the end notes, so you don’t miss any plot. But, I figured it’d be best to warn any particularly sensitive viewers.</p><p>I don’t know if there will be further content beyond this that will contain anything similar, but I will always try to warn you and handle any mature topics seriously. Thank you for reading this.</p><p>Also, less seriously--there’s some MAGICAL SKELETON LOGIC, such as ecto bodies and kissing. It’s the Undertale fandom, guys. So if that bothers you, juuuuust leave. :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>up </span>
  </em>
  <span>my </span>
  <em>
    <span>fabulous </span>
  </em>
  <span>fuckers?!” Pygma kicked open the door to the signing stage, both fingers flipping off the Fans below. He tossed his color-splattered fur coat into the screaming sea. He just grinned as they fought over it. And once the fighting reached its peak—he snapped his fingers, summoned his coat back, and just basked in the disappointed cries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Stern thought, as he watched the punk star blow kisses at the crowd, “They should be used to this by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to begrudgingly admit that the guy knew how to make an entrance, though. Every eye was on his tight clothes, clinging to that shapely, pearly, rainbow-reflecting ecto. The pierced tongue, the gold clips affixed to his skull— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pay attention to me!” Pygma’s whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>body </span>
  </em>
  <span>seemed to scream. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>was it hard not to…. The Punk Prince made a show of strutting slowly with an exaggerated sway to his ample hips, stretching so his low-cut, midriff-baring shirt would lift even higher…. And he sat with his legs splayed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>did Stern hate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But. He had to play. Nice. At least for now. Inhaling, exhaling, Stern put on his sunniest smile and strode into the stage lights. It felt like the whole crowd stood still as he slowly looked out over them…. His wings flared. Their bronze sheen caught beautifully in the lights. And with a single, powerful pump of those feathered appendages, he took to the air. He flew above the crowd, fingertips skimming against the squealing Fans’ fingertips. The golden brother took a big lap before making a superhero landing back onto the stage. He elegantly swung into his chair, crossed </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>legs, and blew a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The people </span>
  <em>
    <span>roared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show off,” Pygma muttered. Stern could see his grin in the corner of his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a tight-lipped grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And didn’t respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Punk Prince knew he couldn’t openly oogle Stern. He knew he couldn’t, not when they were so close that the open space between them </span>
  <em>
    <span>itched. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Luckily, he was a master of passively scribbling his signature and pretending to pay attention. He sighed at the sight in the corner of his eye….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>hot when he was mad. It was subtle, of course. They couldn’t let the Fans see…. But Pygma could. The brass-winged skeleton’s whole body tensed. If only his ecto was summoned; Pygma </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d be able to see every muscle straining against the flowing, sunshine-yellow clothing. Buff, but not too buff…. Not Hulkish, but more of a fencer’s finesse to the lean muscle. The golden brother was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>conservative about showing it off. And Pygma had always relished every opportunity to see it…. Touch it….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, what about Stern wasn’t perfect?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That chiseled jaw….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those perfect teeth….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Pygma could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stern watching him too! How could he not? He’d worn the golden skeleton’s favorite outfit! He wore the </span>
  <em>
    <span>heels </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Stern had bought for him. He shivered as he felt that blazing gaze run across him again. But he still wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him? He wouldn’t look him dead in the eye? Talk to him? For God’s sake, the guy avoided </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching </span>
  </em>
  <span>him when Pygma subtly reached over to grab a fresh pen!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, fuck this. He couldn’t take it anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma slammed his hands down, startling both the waiting Fan and, more importantly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stern. </span>
  </em>
  <span>For the first time in what felt like an eternity—though, it’d probably only been months—the golden brother’s eyes locked with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed those eyes….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he missed being so close that he could see those slitted pupils. They dilated like a cat’s. And they were always open. Always open and glowing and gold…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Always…</span>
  <em>
    <span> when Pygma kissed him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...He still tasted like how Stern figured Stars must taste. Sharp. Scalding. Able to make him melt with the merest touch. Blinding him with a glance. All noises faded into the background. All he could feel was just….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern dazedly muttered into the shorter skeleton’s teeth. He felt that pearly-pink tongue slide into his mouth. And Stern drowned all over again. He couldn’t even hear </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>speak. Did he speak at all? Those familiar arms clutched him close. Ribcage to ribcage. Sternum to sternum. Close. So close. Warm. So warm. Hot. It burned. But. He must be safe. He was always safe with….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spellbound. Safe. Kissed like Pygma was trying to burn all reason away—wait. Pygma. Pygma was kissing him. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Pygma </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>kissing </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In front of. All of their Fans. Stern could hear them squealing, now. He could see Pygma’s cold, calculating eyes. Open wide, cold pinpricks, they just </span>
  <em>
    <span>gauged </span>
  </em>
  <span>his reaction. He could see the questions in them—did he miss him, did he want him, did he like this? Cold, distant stars...that made new fires burn in Stern’s suddenly sharp eyes. The daze cleared. Pleasure turned into disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And all Stern saw was </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>r e d. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>His fist collided with the bastard’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Those teeth left his.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He kicked Pygma to the ground. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He wasn’t touching him anymore.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He raised his chair—when had he gotten out of his chair…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armored arms pinned Stern’s hands down at his sides. He could vaguely hear the chair clatter to the stage floor. Jeri. He heard Jeri. When had—? Stern tensed as he was turned. Bright blue eyes locked with his. He felt Jeri’s magic gently knocking on the walls of his panicked mind—panicked? He was panicked? Frazzled? Scared?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern’s mental barriers broke down as the darker skeleton’s hypnosis gently seeped into his welcoming mind. He melted into his little brother’s waiting embrace. Jericho was saying something. He could barely make it out. He just...saw the blue of those calming eyes overtaking the red in his vision. Blue. Calm and blue. His little brother…. There was evil laughter. Some blue sparkles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And their surroundings shifted….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern collapsed onto Jericho’s couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, when the red had faded from his eyes, Stern numbly watched himself attack his—attack Pygma. Jericho was still attached at his hip. And they both just saw the Stern on screen’s wings flare like a vengeful angel’s. Though, Screen Stern’s eye lights narrowed to demonic slits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Fans were scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pygma </span>
  </em>
  <span>was terrified. Or. So it seemed. Though the Punk Prince screamed, Stern could see those cold eyes calculating. Always calculating, always planning, plotting, scheming—Jericho’s hand gently grounded Stern. The golden brother took a breath and squeezed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. Think you can still handle being the villain?” Jeri asked, so, so carefully. “It’s not too late for a script change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stern watched Pygma dramatically demand that he get dragged away because he “couldn’t walk,” despite the fact that Stern knew he’d endured otherwise? He slowly, slowly nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it means that I get to punch the shit out of that attention whore again, I’ll be the worst villain they’ve ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span>….”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So Pygma essentially kisses Stern in front of the whole crowd that comes to see their signing. Again, it’s sudden and Stern doesn’t give any consent to this. But the poor goldie is spellbound. There’s implications that they were together before. And something very recently ruined that relationship. And Stern melts at the familiar kiss. Until he realizes what’s going on. And then he punches Pygma, almost hits him with a chair, and Jeri has to come swooping in with his hypnosis (which, yes, works on him) to help him calm down from his panic attack.</p><p>Tldr; You should probably expect Stern to be pretty goddamn violent with Pygma and there will be more context as to why in the future. And Pygma is very clearly not over their relationship. Neither of them are….</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Off-Script</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we discover more about the brother's plots--and how easily they can be derailed.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the ambulance, Pygma blankly stared at the metal wall… The Punk Prince’s attendants figured it was shock. How couldn’t it be? His </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his probable </span>
  <em>
    <span>lover</span>
  </em>
  <span> (or so the fresh gossip gasped), had just been swept away by the Evil One! But… most people had no idea this was how Pygma thought. His whole body went numb and his face went dead...as his mind whirled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So. This was the surprise they’d been talking about, hm? An “Evil Stern” arc. It had to have been planned. All of it. Somehow. Well, he hadn’t planned on kissing Stern. But he had to have seduced him. Right? Right. And. He knew they’d use this as a launch pad for their new season. He knew that. And he felt...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Used.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Used.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Used. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma didn’t like being a pawn. He was the Punk </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prince,</span>
  </em>
  <span> easily crowned king on the city’s chessboard. He had followers and friends, pawns and knights, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>could pit against the brothers. They might be the villains, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pygma would make it look </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>heroic as he made them </span>
  <em>
    <span>suffer….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That blank face twisted into a terrible grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think I should wear a dark blue cape this season? Or keep the purple?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought we agreed we’d keep your costume pretty consistent with some subtle changes. Old evil with a slight twist and all that.” Stern managed to mutter around the pins sticking out from his teeth. He walked carefully around the mannequin that housed </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>new outfit, lifting bits of fabric and studying them critically. He still wasn’t sure if black and gold would be a good color combination for him. Maybe he should add some red, spice things up a bit?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, yeah but ‘The purple cape swished ominously’ doesn’t sound as good as ‘the blue banner of bastard evil billowed above the battlefield.’” Jeri chewed his pencil’s eraser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is with you and alliteration?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Fans like it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You just want a blue cape, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Maybe one with a cool horn insignia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern rolled his eyes. Jericho’s released scripts were a popular bit of merchandise for the brothers. People liked how the ghost writer paid attention to battles down to the most minute detail. It was like he was almost there—and he was. And he’d choreographed the fight scenes, contacted people, picked times. Jericho was </span>
  <em>
    <span>basically </span>
  </em>
  <span>their official unofficial manager. The Fans, of course, knew that the Evil One had a mind for details, down to the very dates of the torture devices he used. But they’d never know the sheer OCD that Jeri put into their efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, as Stern carefully fixed another pin to his new costume, he knew that Jeri </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>had no room in his ever-plotting mind for aesthetics and design. The silver brother could plan, but he couldn’t pick the best location for the fights he made in his head. He couldn’t costume. And that was where Stern happily snipped and sewed his way in. As the golden brother lifted the sleeve of his “evil” outfit, he grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you insist…. What if we have you wear a purple-blue cape? Silver insignia on the back, maybe some sort of logo for a new evil organization?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh I like everything about that—except the color. Won’t people argue when I publish a book saying it’s blue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Eh, then it’s just exposure. If a dress’s colors changing in a picture can get people to argue, then maybe a purple-blue cape can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know if that’s dumb or evil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be bad, my dear brother.” Stern put a hand over his heart, dipping back in a dramatic half-swoon. “Don’t you know that my poor, golden heart can only take so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aaaaand then he almost choked on a pin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yep. You’re an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have you, brother dearest!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jericho took his turn rolling his eyes. But the two brothers relaxed in their roles, bantering back and forth, humming contently in their playful peace. They tossed ideas to each other. They traded places and critiqued each other’s work. When evening came, they kicked up their feet and clicked on the T.V.— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>White-hot anger boiled off of Stern. That was nothing new. Whenever he saw Pygma, he felt like breaking whatever object dared house the bastard’s likeness. No, what concerned more, what made him swallow those dark emotions...was Jeri. Frigid rage whipped off of the younger brother in a terrible storm of negativity. A rare occurrence, the Evil One’s true anger always made Stern feel like… he shouldn’t move… shouldn’t breathe… Or else the silver brother might just lash out at the gold. Slowly, Jericho stood, walked over to the screen. He scrutinized it. His hands clenched into fists behind his stick-straight back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an icy tone that matched his wrath, he demanded, “Is your costume ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Suit up,” was all Jericho grit out as he turned away and stalked hurriedly to his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the one-sided battle flashing across the screen….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, he’s coming down the lane in three… two… one! Camera 6, you’re on. I want a close-up of the damage. Oooh, and carnage if there is any. Perfect!” Pygma reclined in the rubble, chattering amiably into the multi-call on his phone. He looked so relaxed, as though he sat in a cafè as opposed to a war zone of his own design. Weapons of all kinds clashed across the ruined street. Civilians ran. Some cowered. And Pygma had a wide view of the whole ordeal spread out before him on his laptop, as camera upon camera showcased the “villain’s” carnage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Punk Prince supposed the delicately placed camera crew might have been a bit much. After all, he’d called in </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>a few favors with the attack squad he’d sicked on his “villain.” But, when you had a hungry news station eager for a story </span>
  <em>
    <span>plus </span>
  </em>
  <span>a burning desire for revenge—well, why not make it look good? Especially if he could publicize it….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All that was left was to find a good place to make his entrance—and ahhhh, there it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Camera 28, give me a shaky panic-zoom on the crying kid. Yeah, the one where the building’s about to fall on it.” Eagerly, Pygma hung up and tossed the laptop to the side. It cracked. He didn’t care. He flipped his dark blue vial out of his belt, downed it. He sprinted through the rubble. The inky substance raced the adrenaline in his veins. His white eyes burned sapphire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building started to fall. It looked like he wouldn’t make it. The panicked mother, half-covered in debris, screamed. Agh, no time to stop all the rock. Too much. He thrust out a hand. It glowed blue. The kid glowed blue. And just as the rocks rained down, Pygma yanked his hand towards himself. The child sailed out of harm’s way and into his arms. Huffing, puffing, he used the momentum to skid to a halt just in front of camera 28’s shell-shocked reporter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have no fear, your Prince is here!” He winked. And, quickly, he handed off the kid to some paramedics. With a mere flick of his hand, that same blue glow surrounded the rubble the mother was under. He commanded the Code Guard nearby, “Grab her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It gave him a lightning-flash rush of satisfaction to see the harried guard obey </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Though, then again—what chance did the civilian guard have against the threat he’d hand-crafted? A scream rang out. One of his attack squad associates flew by. They crumpled into a building. Pygma smirked. He twirled in his bright pink heels, fur coat flashing in the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Camera 28 was still on them as he came face-to-face with his villain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pymga what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sirius, Stern and Jericho’s stoic bodyguard, panted with the pain of his sustained wounds. To the smaller skeleton’s credit, he’d done </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>well for a one-vs-six onslaught….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now it was time for the boss fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Camera 28 shakily zoomed out as Pygma slowly stalked forward, blue-glowing hands slowly raising. Rocks lifted off the ground. Then more rocks did. And more. The Punk Prince smirked as the little bodyguard defensively raised his hands against a sky of floating projectiles. Pygma hopped on a larger rock and floated into the air. His form silhouetted against the sun. His glowing, sapphire eyes glittered menacingly in his shadow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, I’m stopping evil. Isn’t it obvious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Stern and Jericho are going to kill you.” The bodyguard said cautiously. But Pygma simply grinned wider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I’m counting on it. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>they come for their henchman, folks?! Let’s find out. For now, we’ll see how fun it is to play chicken when the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sky is falling!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pygma crashed the first set of rocks down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirius was prepared. It’d been why he hadn’t moved. He was summoning magic. He tried to keep him talking. No time left. He’d have to make this much work. The little bodyguard threw up his shield. The boulders </span>
  <em>
    <span>slammed </span>
  </em>
  <span>against the purple barrier. The magic cracked a bit. Sirius let it shatter against the next earthen volley. He jumped away. Asphalt meteors buried into the ground where he’d stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next projectile whistled as it flew through the air behind him. He hastily summoned a blaster to blast it away. That same blaster shattered against another, bigger stone. The debris smacked against him. His sunglasses shattered. Sirius grit his teeth. He was tired. Low on magic. Injured. But even if he was at his best, he knew he’d have no chance against </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pygma.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was being played with. He was a marionette made to dance. But still. He couldn’t let Pygma do as he pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jericho would be so mad if things went off-script—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was his last thought before a smaller rock crashed into his skull….</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Re-Write</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The brothers scrap their narrative....</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Just tell me what I want to know, Siri. And then I’ll let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about…</span>
  <em>
    <span> hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>no. T-They’ll… be here… any minute now. A-And you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma hated the smug smirk Siri sported… but he knew he was right. His irritated irises glanced at the gathering crowd. A hungry reporter dove right through the masses, lunging on his unsuspecting prey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir! Sir! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Outercode On-The-Scene</span>
  </em>
  <span>, your local sector’s news, I’m Reporter!Sans #14. Sir, can you confirm that the Punk Prince, Pygma, is inside? Can you give us the details? What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The baker, to his credit, simply smiled this big, dopey grin. He was an odd Fell, with a black bandana tied around his head and ruby-red bones. His sharp teeth flashed in his excited smile. “Well, I was making a new batch of cookies from today’s leftovers. Kids and the hubbie like them fresh, y’know? So I love makin’ ‘em something after work an’ takin’ it home. All of a sudden, Pygma </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself </span>
  </em>
  <span>comes in through </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>door, with this beat up lil’ villain. And he asks if he can keep him here while he rests up! So </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>I agree and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were… benefits and detriments to being so well-known. On any given day, Pygma would have adored the fact that he could bribe the red-boned baker out of his establishment. And with just an autograph too! On any given day, he’d have </span>
  <em>
    <span>preened </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the attention…. Today was not one of those days. Clucking his tongue, he snapped the cutesy cupcake curtains shut and twirled towards his quarry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, your old boss said you used to shriek like a canary who couldn’t stop singing…. What changed?” As if to spite him further, Siri just remained silent. The battered skeleton coughed against his makeshift binds, head lolling. Drops of purple blood stained the metal chair Siri sat in…. Growling, Pygma kicked down the cheap seat. Those cold eyes took a manic tint. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Answer me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirius just let out a wheezing chuckle. “Damn. You really are breaking character, huh? Why don’t you ask Stern, yourself, if you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>confused?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me.” Pygma paced before the tied guard. “I don’t even know if taking you will give me a chance to speak to him. I think he blocked me. He won’t say why he ended it. Ended us. Why? What’d I do? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it really any fucking wonder with the way you’re acting? If your fans saw you acting like such a psycho ex, then—” Another kick silenced the smaller skeleton. Siri coughed up more of that purple blood…. He found his chair flipped by a heeled foot. And then—</span>
  <em>
    <span>crack! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That same heel dug itself into his sternum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit back a scream. His vision swam as he held his breath. As his pained shriek withered and died in his chest, Siri muttered, “Damn, maybe… you should’ve been the villain… this season….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirius closed his eyes as he expected another blow. Ugh, being tired and hurt just completely removed the usually quiet guard’s filter…. Well, tired, hurt, angry, scared, probably sporting some sort of concussion—he blearily opened his eyes as something trickled down his throat. He saw Pygma draw away from him with a red-tinted vial. His throat started to burn. And burn. And </span>
  <b>
    <em>burn. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, that wilted scream bloomed anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distantly, he heard Pygma start up his interrogation again. But Sirius couldn’t break. No. He refused. He’d promised…. And so the little guard retreated into his head while his body suffered. He could hide from the pain. He could hide...in his memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Face-to-face interviews had not been uncommon for the bodyguard company Sirius worked for. Clients liked to be assured of their future protector’s capabilities. But what wasn’t common was seeing his coworkers slam their way out of the interview in a huff. Sirius simply blinked as he watched some of his most stoic acquaintances storm away. He scoffed. Frustrations he could understand? But this just looked like an unprofessional tantrum. He opened his mouth to say so—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Keep your mouth shut, Sirius.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“No one wants to hear what you have to say, Loudmouth.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Hey Siri—shut up!”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...His jaw snapped shut. Not even sparing another glance, he sighed. How his coworkers felt or acted was none of his business. All that mattered was what the client thought and wanted…. Still, it would be a long wait in an uncomfortable plastic chair, with nothing but an old magazine and sterile white walls to keep him company. Or so he thought. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like clockwork, his coworkers streamed in and out of the room. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then Sirius was the only one left.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should he be intimidated? Yes. Probably. But his legs still moved towards the door. Huh. The door still vibrated from the last bodyguard’s latest exit. And the moment he entered the room—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, he’s so tiny.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did they think it’d be funny to send us a chihuahua? I asked for a guard dog.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sirius blinked as he found himself face-to-face with the famous and the infamous, the best and the worst, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Stern and Jericho. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And the first thing that flew from his mouth was, “Well you look a lot taller on T.V.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...The room fell silent. Oh. Oh no. He’d just had to open his big mouth. And they were sitting. They were probably taller if they stood—oh boy. They were. Much taller. Much taller than him. He felt tiny. Couldn’t these guys level a city block? Oh. Oh boy. This wasn’t going to end well—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pffffft!” That was the day that Sirius learned that Jericho, Outercode’s number one villain...had the cutest genuine laugh. It sounded so light-hearted, so bright, so different from the menacing chuckle that struck fear into the hearts of many. And, still flustered, Sirius immediately shared this thought with the brothers. And then Stern started to laugh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What? What was happening? Sirius silently sweat, both hands covering his mouth. This. This was where he died. Right? Right?! As soon as they finished laughing, he was dead. But when both brothers finished wheezing and wiping their tears away, they offered him the job. He immediately asked why, his nervous voice leaking through his fingertips. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it was the shock, but...he never could remember which brother gave this explanation—“If someone can’t handle the truth, how can they keep a secret?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And, from then on… Sirius never had to be afraid of sharing his thoughts or hiding away who he really was. He vowed, then, that if they could take his words, he’d keep theirs….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No matter what.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone help—</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>No. Matter. What.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Siri?! Siri, can you hear me? Sirius!” Cool hands soothed the brimstone burning through his brain. The small skeleton’s head lolled. His hazy eyes locked on sharp, icy blue ones. He felt something knocking at the fire wall he’d hid most of his awareness behind. N-No…. He couldn’t…. He can’t…. Pygma couldn’t read minds, right? Had he found a way to? N-No, don’t let him in…. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please </span>
  </em>
  <span>let me in, my Star. P-Please let me help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only… only one person… called him that…. Siri whimpered. Hesitantly, his conscious approached the fire wall… and stumbled into the pain. All of his senses rushed back. The bruises, the cuts, the fire in his everything, the burnt-sugar scent of fresh sweets, Jeri’s cool touch—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J-Jer...icho…? His hazy, mismatched gaze met the icy blue. That touch…. F-Feels…. He leaned into the gentle coolness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m here. Stay awake. Shhhh…. I know it hurts. But stay awake. Shhhh….” Jericho’s hands soothingly stroked his head. Sirius nuzzled against those familiar fingers. “Stern’s going to come heal you soon, okay? J-Just talk. Can you talk? Baby, can you talk to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yer like an ice pack….” Jericho blinked, momentarily stunned. “ ’ave I ever… said that? Cold ’n gentle. Apply to burns…. ’n yer brother’s a heat pack. Moon ’n the sun…. Night ’n day. Quiet ’n—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chair sailed over the pair. It crashed through a window. “...Loud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silver brother gave the dazed skeleton the fondest smile. Gods, it was good to see that, even so pained, Sirius still had that charming honesty that both brothers adored. But. H-He was still so hurt. Sirius was so strong. A-And he was reduced to this. His precious little Star was so hurt and he hadn’t saved him and even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a villain, he—! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I ever told you I have this super cute boyfriend?” Jericho startled as Sirius started babbling again. And he tried so hard not to cry as the little guard explained, in perfect detail, this adorable boyfriend he had…. How he was so soft and soothing and cuddly…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J-Just stay with me, dear. I’ll…. I promise I’ll get you back to your boyfriend, okay?” Jeri’s heart ached as he cradled Sirius’s cracked skull in his lap….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How far the mighty have </span>
  <em>
    <span>fallen, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Morgenstern! I never thought you’d resort to damaging an innocent baker’s home </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>purpose</em>
  </b>
  <span>! Is this the kind of villain you want to play? The meathead? The berserker?” Pygma cackled as he ducked underneath the last stool Stern could find. They stood on either sides of a kitchen island, occasionally racing around it in this deadly ring-around-the-rosy. “Oh noooo, Stern, the wielder of chairs! I’m soooo scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern just growled. This utter farce of a fucking scene felt so anticlimactic to reveal his new costume…. The rusted-red cape, the tarnished gold accents, the black touches here and there—the fucking rushed eye liner! But worse than </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of that was that Pygma’s petty “revenge” now extended to more than just </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Whatever you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to know, you can ask </span>
  <b>
    <em>me</em>
  </b>
  <span>, Pygma. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Leave my brother out of this</em>
  </b>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Pygma came to a halt. He tilted his head. His face went blank. “Why’d you break up with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern grit his teeth, digging his fingers into the counter. How he </span>
  <em>
    <span>longed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to bash that blank face in…. But no. If their new plan was going to work… he needed to play along with this. Taking a shuddering breath, he growled out, “You fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-But. Are you going to take me back? I-I….” Pygma seemed to struggle with what to say. Then his calculating-cold eyes flashed. “I-I still love you—!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those words just felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>poison </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the mire of Stern’s hurting heart. His phalanges cracked the delicate marble of the island counter. He couldn’t fucking take this anymore. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating someone </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>else </em>
  </b>
  <span>now, Pygma!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W...What…?” The blank face melted into one of complete shock and agony. Stern wanted to look away. But he couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t expecting to.Gods, I didn’t think I’d be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyone after what you did to me. But I just. Stumbled across him and he makes me feel so…. So much better than you ever did.” Stern closed his eyes to just… conjure up that gentle, sunshine smile his love gave him. And...he couldn’t help but smile too. Even if it was only a phantom face, a mere memory, it made his heart soar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...When?” Unfortunately, Pygma’s cold voice broke through his reverie. Stern cracked open his eyes, slitted pupils peeking through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I broke up a year ago. I met Sunny a few days after.” The cute nickname for the light in his life just made Stern relax a bit more. And Pygma noticed. And Pygma </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. When had Stern smiled for him like that? When had…. Had he ever made Stern so happy?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-But you’re polyamorous—” The startled skeleton barely managed to mutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, which you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kindly </span>
  </em>
  <span>told all of your journals and magazines after I </span>
  <em>
    <span>confided </span>
  </em>
  <span>in you, Pyg. You told them </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>many things I </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to keep to your grave! I don’t want you in my love life. Hell, I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>you that close to me again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Pygma shuddered, eye lights guttering out. He leaned on the countertop for support. “I thought you knew. I thought you were doing the same thing to me. I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fucked </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>up view of the world isn’t how everyone sees it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Stern took a deep breath. “At least… that’s not what I thought about us. I… </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. So much. And, yes, when I look at you, I still think about what we could have been. But I don’t want that. Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry….” Pygma’s voice cracked. Stern stood up from his side of the counter. He started to walk away. “M-Mo…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That nickname made his eyes burn. “I don’t even know if I can trust you when you say that, Pyg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t either. I just…. I-I….” Stern could hear the tears in his voice. And that gentle part of him, that’d cradled that pierced head so many nights ago, laughed with and kissed those pearly white teeth—it wanted to comfort him. But the hurt festered. And it spat. And it made it so much easier to not look back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be my friend again, not pull that stage shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>kidnap my brother’s… not kidnap our bodyguard… then that might be a step towards me forgiving you. I’m angry. I think I always will be. But….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I just want to understand what I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stern!” The honest confusion in the other’s voice almost made him freeze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I can’t help you with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I know. Can… Can I at least get a hug?” Stern finally stopped in the doorway, watching his shaking brother comfort the </span>
  <em>
    <span>severely </span>
  </em>
  <span>injured Sirius. The Sirius that was crying from mental exhaustion, physical and mental pain. The delirious Sirius, that, not hours before, was making both brothers laugh with his dry wit and blunt honesty. He looked into his brother’s vulnerable eyes that just screamed to help him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he looked back at the Punk Prince. Pygma’s broken, confused, longing face…. The golden brother felt his resolve harden as his new, red cape swished behind him in his exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The golden light of his healing magic cast dark shadows on the slack face of Pygma. Stern felt no remorse as he left his former lover to drown in his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he felt no remorse for what his brother and him were about to do….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>later when Pygma finally managed to stumble to his feet, gripping onto the cracked counter in the rubble of the ruined chairs. Really, it’d only been a few minutes. He. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to think. H-He…. He could tell the people outside what happened. Yes. H-He could--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why were Stern and Jeri talking to the reporters together? </span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>Jeri cradled Sirius, still marred by the lesser cracks and bruises. Stern stood in front of the both of them. And the red-clad golden brother spoke to the gathering of scared on-lookers, “When I plunged into the sea of negativity that day, Pygma knew I’d been corrupted. My brother took me in. He’d hoped to form an evil duo with me. But I was sick. He cared for me. And for days on end, I felt the pure malice and hatred that my brother had suffered through. And I </span><em><span>absorbed </span></em><span>it. All of it. My positivity drew in my brother’s excess black energy, like a positive magnet attracting the negatives. And Jericho, for the first time in years, purified. My </span><em><span>baby brother, </span></em><span>as you see him now, can finally feel positive energy.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>A dubious murmur rippled through the crowd. But some looked to Jericho’s genuine, sad face, the way he so gently cradled the small skeleton, and some looked convinced. And how could anyone doubt Morgenstern? How could anyone doubt the golden brother? Many fans were desperate for his return to good…. Many didn’t expect it would come so soon.</span></p><p>
  <span>“So he rushed to beg Pygma for his help. And Pygma, my best friend, managed to draw away my negativity in a desperate kiss. He didn’t know what else to do. And he was scared. I was scared. And the last of my negativity was drained away as I unleashed that violence upon him that day. And I’m so sorry that I caused so many of you to be afraid…. But I was scared too. Jericho and I weren’t sure how Pygma would react to the negativity. But we saw his behavior getting more erratic…. More violent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’d meant to keep this a secret from the good citizens of Outercode. We even would have played our part as villains, if only to keep my best friend’s good name from being dragged through the mud. We were hoping and praying that we could save Pygma before the corruption took over….” Stern looked to Pygma, as if he’d sensed him in the window. And the many eyes followed. They all saw him peeking from those awful cupcake curtains. They focused in on him. Pygma completely froze under the scrutiny of so many cameras….  Some, he’d hired himself not hours before for his Sirius attack. Others, he barely knew. So many cameras. So many eyes on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sad to say we were too late.” Stern’s harsh gold eyes bore into his. And Pygma backed away, falling into the rubble of the ruined bakery. He curled into a ball. He heard more murmurs, more gossip, more questions--but he couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore. For once, he hated the attention. And as he sank into his black ink, melting through it and dripping into the confines of his home, he finally let out a sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated being smart enough to realize…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were making him the villain.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so how many people want to punch Pygma by now? I promise I'm going to TRY and give him a redemption arc.... Feel like I'm digging myself a pretty deep hole though. XDD</p><p>***</p><p>By the way, the red-boned baker in this chapter is actually a buddy of mine's OC! He was one of the first skeles to actually go through Outercode as I was drafting it out. ^^</p><p>https://www.deviantart.com/thenor/art/VANDAL-SANS-V-ANS-787905535<br/>https://www.deviantart.com/thenor/art/Cassavan-Ship-Pride-2019-800966700</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Art Special!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the author must showcase FAN ART.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heyya everybody! Hope you like this slightly different chapter. The events going down aren't canon in any way, but they're definitely fun ^^ The last piece, by Purple, is actually the piece that started this whole ball rolling. With Stern's design, I had an idea. And then more ideas. And I designed everyone else on my own from there. So thanks Purple ^^ I know he hasn't had a chance to read this story yet, but I hope he enjoys it when he does.</p><p> </p><p>See you in the actual canon chapter, my dudes!</p><p>-Kiwi</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What is uuuuuuuuup, my fabulous fuckers!" Pygma slid down a fire pole that came through the ceiling of his house. "While our fabulous Author is figuring out what the hell to do with THIS latest development in the story--she really actually wasn't expecting it--we wanted to share some fantastic fucking art we got from some of you! Also some of her official art for some of US."</p><p>"And <em>I </em>have first pick." Stern smirked as he appeared in a shower of golden sparks. He whipped out a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to the faceless, bodiless audience.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>[<em>Priceless Punch, </em>By: <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/thelexinomicon">The Lexonomicon</a>.]</p><p>"...Of course this is YOUR first pic."</p><p>"Why wouldn't it be? It's a memorable moment~"</p><p>"Tsk, the only thing beautiful about it is my face--"</p><p>"Which is being punched in, making it even lovelier!"</p><p>Pygma blanched. Then he smirked. "Fine. Then I'm showing them this!"</p><p>He pulled out his own piece of paper, this one elegantly laminated.</p><p>
  
</p><p>[<a href="https://www.deviantart.com/kiwicalamity/art/Morgenstern-s-First-Appearance-828733538"><em>Morgenstern's First Appearance</em></a>, By: <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/kiwicalamity">Kiwi Calamity</a>]</p><p>"How the hell did you--?!"</p><p>"I have my ways--oh, and for my SECOND piece--"</p><p>"Pygma it is NOT your turn--"</p><p>"I'll have a turn~" Jeri popped out of the woodwork in a shower of purple sparks. He held up a cute little doodle. </p><p>
  
</p><p>[<em>V'ans With Pygma's Jacket</em>; By: <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/thenor/">The Nor</a>]</p><p>"How the HELL does everything come back to you?" Stern growled.</p><p>"What? I can't help it if the fans love me more~"</p><p>"I'm going to MURDER you!"</p><p>Jericho blinked as he watched the two mortal enemies begin to chase each other around the house. "I just wanted to show the poor baker some love...."</p><p>"You mean about as much love as his evil outfit got~?" </p><p>Seeming to tire briefly from the chase, Stern came to a halt, growling. "Ugh. I only have a rough SKETCH of my costume, but here! Seems fucking pointless now."</p><p>
  
</p><p>[<em>Stern's Evil Outfit, </em>By: Kiwi Calamity.]</p><p>Jericho pat his brother's shoulder. "Hey, if not even our Author knew that last chapter's twist was going to come, then don't worry.... Maybe we'll get another chance to use it."</p><p>"I fucking hope so."</p><p>"It's my turn again~" Pygma whipped out another laminated piece.</p><p>
  
</p><p>[<em>Pygma's Ref Sheet, </em>By: Kiwi Calamity]</p><p>"Ugh." Stern rolled his eyes.</p><p>"Bitch, I'm the ONLY one with a ref sheet--"</p><p>"And <em>I'm </em>the only one with a finished, shaded piece. So shut the fuck up, <em>Pygma.</em>" Stern growled.</p><p>"Ouch, ooooh, that hurt sooooo much."</p><p>Jericho just contently kicked his feet. "I don't have a ref sheet or a canon appearance yet, even if there are sketches."</p><p>"...Authooooor, make it haaaaappen!" Pygma whined.</p><p>"Why the hell are you begging for Jeri's art?"</p><p>"Because it's just one more thing to top~ Like how I can <em>easily </em>top this!" Pygma slammed down one last piece of paper.</p><p>
  
</p><p>[<em>Au Dream for Kiwi Calamity, </em>By:  <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/xthe-purple-glitchx">XThe-Purple-GlitchX</a> ]</p><p>"...Okay. That's it. I'm actually killing you this time."</p><p>"What? Did you not like what I said~? Or did you like it too much~?"</p><p>"PYGMA I SWEAR TO--"</p><p>
  <em>And thus, the Code Guard had to wonder what happened--Pygma's house was burnt down with three very drunk morally grey gays were dragged out by a very, very done little body guard.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Delightful Struggle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Pygma tries being a villain....</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorryyyyy that this is short. I needed to re-plot and also I'm dealing with online classes right now &gt;_&lt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jericho started to worry when it took two tries to get Pygma on the line. Usually, he had to wait through six or seven attempts before the Punk Prince </span>
  <em>
    <span>managed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call him back. Pygma always networked. He always kept promoting himself, through magazines, news interviews, and fan meet ups. And, while the Silver Brother didn’t like the guy for obvious reasons, he respected those efforts. But even when the call connected… the other’s quiet disturbed him. Pygma </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>spoke first on the phone—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hellooooo? Jericho? Are you going to say something? Knock, knock~” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-Ah, Pygma. I was starting to wonder if the call dropped.” A bit taken aback by the other’s carefree tone, he stuttered, “I-I. Um. I just wanted to ask about today’s incident?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooooh, that. Yes, I…. It was interesting. Very interesting.” Jericho could easily picture Pygma absently doodling or twirling a pen in his fingers. Why in the world did he sound so… so calm?! “And don’t worry. I imagine you called to schedule something. But I have my own plans….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Earlier That Day</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...Pygma had never had to worry about hiding himself as he strut through the streets. All eyes landed on him anyway! The gleeful fans could swarm all they wished. Look at him. Love him! Wasn’t he amazing, lovely, cool? Pay attention! But… he supposed being a villain meant that he couldn’t do that anymore. Eyes briefly met his in windows, before shutters snapped shut or curtains closed. Everything just seemed… cold. Pygma tugged his fur coat tighter around himself. His heart felt as empty as the streets became. </span>
  <span>He wanted to cry—ah, he already had. Mascara ran down his eyes…. H-Heh, like a sobbing raccoon…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>M-Maybe Stern would find it funny? More likely, he’d be “annoyed.” H-Haha, he always hated his makeup being off. He’d grab Pygma’s chin so softly and fix his eye liner so delicately. S-Sometimes it just seemed like an excuse to touch him when public eyes fixed on them. Fans never knew the bronze-winged skeleton could be so adorably clingy…. Pygma used to laugh at it. And Stern would get “angry” because his face would move and he’d need to redo it all again— </span>
  <span>Gods, why was his ruined </span>
  <em>
    <span>makeup </span>
  </em>
  <span>even reminding him of Stern? A fresh wave of tears threatened to fall. He forced his face to turn blank. Pygma distantly wondered if it must be creepy to see him wandering, deadpanned and tear-streaked, down the streets. Did he resemble a zombie? Or a robot? His movements sure felt mechanical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” A voice dragged him up from the thoughts that drowned him. He turned his dead eyes to the approaching two Code Guard. It was the lizard who spoke, it seemed…. Pygma instinctively put a hand to his vials. The Guards immediately summoned their weapons in response. “Put your hands in the air. Get on your knees. Now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were… shaking? Ah. They must be scared of him. Unfortunately for them, though, he couldn’t just let himself be arrested. An innocent hero would do that. And he was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>villain, </span>
  </em>
  <span>now. So he should probably resist—ah. A blaster shot narrowly missed his skull. A warning shot, hm? He better up his game. Pygma didn’t know if anyone was filming. Probably. Who wouldn’t? </span>
  <span>Sighing, he blindly reached for a vial and downed it. Pygma barely registered the familiar purple’s flavor before the guards’ attacks ramped up. A wave of vines tore through the pavement. They cracked into his sternum. He went flying. Blue magic surrounded his soul. It slammed him back to the ground. Dust flew up from the small crater…. Pygma closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Guards must’ve thought they knocked him out. The Lizard released the hold on his soul. One started to slide down into the crater. The Lizard’s eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>widened</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Pygma lurched to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah….” The Punk Prince rubbed his chest, eyes still closed. “Effects didn’t take hold until I was in the air…. Gotta give you credit for that. But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lizard flinched as Pygma cracked his knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my turn now.” Pygma opened his eyes as they blazed purple. He charged the guard. His fist bashed into the Lizard’s snout. Blood began to stream. The guard struggled to summon something in his shock. Pygma bashed his skull into his head. The Lizard cried out. The Human started radioing for backup. She drew her weapon—how stereotypical, a baton. Still, she didn’t seem to think so as she cracked the wood over Pygma’s head. And Pygma jolted with the impact… but no damage occurred. </span>
  <span>He didn’t even cry out. There was no blood. No cracks. Not even a bruise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. If someone stronger hit me, that might’ve hurt,” he commented before rearing back for another punch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight didn’t have to take as long as it did. But honestly? Pygma wanted to give as many people as much time as needed to film or get out cameras. But he started to realize something as he beat the guards to a pulp. People </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>paid attention to him. They watched. They talked. They didn’t approach, sure…. But all eyes still remained on </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And he </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>loved </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He only stopped when he heard approaching sirens get too close. And the last thing that people saw… were those blazing, purple eyes flickering to white. Like a wraith dissolving into fog, Pygma melted into a puddle of deep, black ink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma yawned as the Silver Brother tried to get him to talk further about the day. But the Punk Prince simply didn’t budge. Jericho seemed to give up after a while, and, with a sigh, muttered, “Well, if you need any help or advice on being a villain—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, no. I don’t think I will.” Pygma chuckled as he finished typing something up…. He hit send. And not long after he ended the call with Jericho, the replies came swarming in. Basking in them, Pygma smiled for the first time that day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eerie, twisted thing settled on his teeth like a crouching gargoyle….</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Uncomfortable Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Stern can't stop thinking about something, and no one's really helping--</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blaring lights screeched in his eyes. Camera clicks crawled in his ears. Voices covered him like crawling bugs from head to toe. Much as Stern loved attention, he always felt… uncertain, about the Press. Fans were one creature, a dog rolling over and begging for the merest glimpse. Reporters could be compared to wolves, always snapping at his ankles to get some sort of reaction. They could be tentatively tamed. But, as Pygma had shown, they could also <em> happily </em> bite the hand that fed them. Plenty of scathing articles already circulated Outercode on the Punk Prince’s attack on Sirius. Plenty <em> more </em>articles doubting the brothers reared their ugly heads, too. </p><p>Hence, Stern had no choice but to participate in a dreaded… Press Conference. Sighing, he stepped out into the wave of sight and sound, light and voice. The reporter-wolves pounced on him before he could even sit down.</p><p>“Stern, Stern! How can you be certain your brother is negativity-free?”</p><p>“Is it likely you may still be corrupted? What are you going to do, if so? <em> Is </em>there a plan?!”</p><p>“Can we really trust your brother isn’t tricking you again?”</p><p>“Are you aware of what condition Pygma’s victim is in?”</p><p>“Is it true that Pygma’s corrupted actions are a result of a former relationship with you?!”</p><p>That last question made Stern’s hands clench into fists as he slid into his seat. He forced them to relax, forced his body to relax. Shifting into a straighter, professional position, he humorously tapped the microphone. “Come now—gentlemen, ladies, everything beyond and in-between. Let’s be <em> civil </em> about this. One at a time. I’m a skeleton of many talents, but even <em> I </em>can’t be everywhere at once.”</p><p>His words earned a chuckle from a few of the lighter journals in the crowd. Good. Stern would focus on them. He blindly picked some lucky wolves to feed scraps of information to. </p><p><em>         Negativity and corruption were different; his brother could be corruption-free, but not negativity-free. As he’d said the other day, his brother is free of the excess of negativity. In excess, negativity led to corruption. It wasn’t bad on its own. It was why Stern was corrupted when he’d fallen into Jericho’s summoned sea of negativity—he’d had an imbalance of it. </em> <em> Even an excess of positivity, he pointed out, could lead to apathy and carelessness over the most grotesque of actions. But, everything always tried to find a balance. The black energy had built up after years of that balance being improper; his brother hadn’t had a proper filter, Stern, for the black energy for years, now. Stern used up excess positivity, golden energy, fighting Jericho. But Jeri was always trying to gather more power where Stern was not—and that was where the problem lay. </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>        Jericho was not a bad person for a condition he couldn’t help.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em>        On a bad day… Stern could become just as bad, if not worse. That was why— </em>
</p><p>“—control and balance are exceedingly important for our position as guardians. We need to monitor ourselves. If we do not, we will become far worse versions of what we already are.” Stern finished with a flourish. At that much, many reporters seemed satisfied. They shifted their attentions. Everything <em> seemed </em>to be going fine. They devoured the white lies and false truths he threw to them—though, some were hard truths he’d stated before.</p><p>But then—</p><p>“Reporter Sans #14, Conspiracy Crew Magazine. There seem to be a few discrepancies here. Why would you lie to the citizens at first and not immediately tell them about Pygma’s condition once you became aware? Is that not more endangering to the people than revealing this budding villain?” The glitchy skeleton’s harsh, hungry eyes dug into him, trying to rip every stray detail from Stern’s face. The golden brother could see him hastily scribbling in his notebook—blindly, and with great skill, disconnecting and paying attention to his hands and his mind. </p><p>Stern’s smile turned tight. </p><p>It seemed he’d picked the wrong wolf to feed.</p><p>Still, he wouldn’t let the glitch sink his teeth into him. Brightly, he smiled, turning up the charm. “As I’m sure I said in the initial reveal… I, and my brother, were trying to avoid a panic. Pygma is also a well-loved and respected skeleton—as he should be. Telling people he was <em> turning </em> into a <em> villain, </em>particularly after a few regretful incidents on my part, we weren’t sure people would believe us. Perhaps it was a mistake to try and deal with this quietly. But we are dealing with the aftermath as best as we can.”</p><p>Leaning back, he let out a long sigh, giving a “sorrowful” head shake. He rested his head back in his hands. His voice cracked, “Even <em> I’m </em> not perfect. Do you honestly think I <em> wanted </em>my best friend to become like this?”</p><p>There was… a chord struck, in his soul just then. And he wondered… if he’d started projecting, just a little. If one told him years ago that his beloved Pygma, his good friend, could become someone he hated <em> so </em>much—Stern would have slapped them. Shaking a bit, he peered calculatedly through the cracks in his fingers. He saw the glitching reporter staring back, dubiously, in his scribbling. Stern closed his eyes as he stood, engraving that skeptical, mismatched gaze into his mind.</p><p>He’d have to remember this one.</p><p>“...I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for questions. Stay safe and write well, everyone.” Wiping at his eyes, Stern <em> himself </em>couldn’t be sure if the motion was for dramatic effect or not anymore. He spread his wings. The clamor started back up again, as the reporters hoped for one more morsel. The golden brother caught one voice over the roaring crowd.</p><p>“You also didn’t answer anything about your relationship with Pygma!” Reporter #14 bit out. Morgenstern started to tense… then smirked as a thought occurred to him.</p><p>“I have a boyfriend. But it isn’t Pygma.” The reporters <em> erupted </em> as he shot up into the cool embrace of the stars. Stern sighed as he dipped and dived, relaxing on the cool breeze. <em> Technically, </em> he wasn’t lying. And he counted that as a victory. Still… the disturbing thoughts of Pygma buzzing through his mind made it almost impossible for him to enjoy the flight to his next meeting. He could remember his… former lover… asking him to take him on these flights. He wanted to see if they could touch the nearest star—a romantic, if impossible idea. It wasn’t like Pygma couldn’t take one of his potions and help <em> himself </em>to fly. Was it the blue one? Stern couldn’t remember…. </p><p>But he always thought his boyfriend… his boyfriend at the time... just wanted to feel what it was like to fly in his arms.</p><p>Stern always was nervous to take him on one. Couldn’t risk hurting his precious, <em> precious </em> Pygma, could he? But even that didn’t make sense. Again, he could fly on his own. Not for very long, but…. Gods… if he’d… taken him on one flight… would they have ended up this way? Was there <em> some </em>way… this was all his fault? He shook his head, flight stuttering a bit. He. He really needed to not think of him right now. He really. Just needed to focus.</p><p>Or, maybe, he just needed to not think at all.</p><p>His wings snapped through the air as he headed to his appointment with great haste.</p><p>***</p><p>“—<em> then </em> the little bastard has the <em> gall </em>to ask if I’m dating Pygma. The nerve, I tell you. Took everything in me not to laugh.” Stern kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Casually, he sipped the freshly made margarita his host had offered him. The bittersweet tang of limes and tequila cooled the fires sparking in his mind. He sank gratefully into the expensive cushions, letting out a long, long sigh.</p><p>Sometimes, it felt oddly contradictory that he could relax so easily in front of this man. This monster could destroy his public reputation far easier than any reporter ever could. And yet… here Stern was. Lounging in his lounge, sipping his alcohol, shooting the breeze and avoiding his own thoughts. Was he missing Pygma? Was he seeing him in these drinks? Did he suddenly remember that this margarita tasted vaguely like the Punk Prince’s favorite fruity cocktail?</p><p><em> Nope. </em>He set down his first glass. Another quickly replaced it. The uncomfortable questions in the back of his mind fizzled and died.</p><p>“It <em> is </em>remarkable that such a little group grew into a decently followed—and dare I say decently respected—magazine.” Head Councilman Outercode Sans, Odie for short, nursed his own vodka soda with calculated care. Everything about the skeleton seemed calculated. His bright outfits contrasted his strict reputation. He was known to be a family man. At the very least, his family always rescued him from drowning in his workaholic tide. And Odie seemed to enjoy that much? But even though he’d worked with the man for years, Stern always remained impressed by Odie’s cool, unshakable demeanor. </p><p>There <em> was </em>a reason the little skeleton kept his position as the Monster Representative for All Citizens. Odie could handle a crisis. Or, in this case—he could handle a buzzed, mopey super celebrity. Who totally wasn’t avoiding his break-up thoughts. Nope. Not at all.</p><p>“I still hate ’em,” Stern grumbled into his glass. “They’re annoyingly observant at best and accurately critical at their worst. Why can’t they just roll over an’ let the show go on?”</p><p>“Probably for the same reason they took the insult you used as their moniker—sheer spite.” Odie poured Stern another margarita as the golden brother shot back the rest of his old one. He felt like he blinked. Then, he found a fresh drink in front of him. His third glass joined the other two in a neat stack at the end of the coffee table. “Still, if the public<em> did </em>find out that you’ve both unintentionally and intentionally caused Pygma’s erratic behavior—”</p><p>“Ugh, you don’t have to tell me twice. I’ve made a monster—and don’t you start lecturing me on how “monster” shouldn’t be used as a negative term, blah blah, I get it. You’ve told me. Point still sand— stand— stands.” Stern’s wings puffed up as Odie opened his mouth, the lecture died, and he patiently closed his mouth. “I have <em> no </em>idea what he’s gonna do next. I hate it.”</p><p>“It’s probably best to try and not give him what he wants…. He asks so much. And his little tantrum with the Code Guard doesn’t make me want to give him much of anything at all. Our Punk Prince has turned unstable enough…. Ah, another glass?” Stern shook his head, closing his eyes as the motion made the ceiling swim. Odie’s words seemed to catch up with his sluggish brain after a moment.</p><p>“You been talkin’ to him?” He cracked a single bronze eye. Blearily, he noted that Odie only half-finished his first glass. The Head Councilman merely hummed in response, whisking Stern’s stack of glasses back to his lounge’s bar. “I jus’ want Jiri an’... Jeri and Seri— Siri— to be okay. Wasn’ cool to beat up Siri. Don’... don’ want that to happen again….” </p><p>“No one here does, Stern.” The golden brother slumped further into the couch, watching Odie speak through the distorted facets of his glass. “Still. Even if I coordinate with Pygma, I can’t guarantee he’ll do as I say…. Can you?”</p><p>Stern slowly blinked, unable to really think up a response without those uncomfortable questions trying to break from their drunken prison. He weakly growled out, “Did ya use that illegal tequila for mah drink again or am I jus’ losin’ tolerance somehow?”</p><p>“Maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve drank with me, old friend….” </p><p>“We ain’t friends ’n you’ve said ’s much.”</p><p>“Touchè, but, what had you said earlier about bad choice of words? Ah. <em> My point still stands.”  </em></p><p>“Shut the Councilman up, Head Fuck Odie.”</p><p>“Ah, ah—<em> that’s </em>my husband’s job—” Odie’s amused reply was cut off by Jeri’s signature ringtone—discordant, villainous, dark piano chords, what else?—blaring from Stern’s phone. </p><p>The winged skeleton fumbled with it for a second before answering with an elegant, “Whatcha wan’?”</p><p>“Turn on the nearest fucking T.V. <em> now. </em>” Jericho didn’t mince words. Stern blearily turned to Odie, who’d already sped-walked over to click on the lounge’s big flat screen. He saw a flash of a paint-splattered coat, heard screams, and then he had to close his eyes against the bright, flashing colors.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“<em> Shit </em> doesn’t cut it. I need you down here, <em> now. </em>”</p><p>“...Can’t.”</p><p>“Why the actual <em> hell </em> <b> <em>not </em> </b>?”</p><p>“...I swear to drunk I’m not me.”</p><p>“God <em> damn </em>it, Odie.”</p><p>The connection dropped. Stern passed out. Odie watched as the flash of blue and white came on screen to clash with the splattered fur blur. The Head Councilman exhaled shortly as he took a short glance at the positive skeleton’s snoring form. </p><p>“...Apologies, Jericho.” Odie said to no one in particular—perhaps to the T.V, which he watched intently? “But it’s as I said. I don’t think it’s a good idea to give Pygma what he <em> wants </em>right now.”</p><p>He swirled his glass. Downed his drink. And just kept watching….</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>--so he gets drunk.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Dark Debut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When you want to let the whole world know where you stand—might as well do it with a bang, right?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey there my fabulous fuckers,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Morgenstern &amp; Jericho r lying! TwT/ I need ur support. Meet in the ware-hangout—#17, not #18. \OoO/ I’ll show u exctly wht I’ve been wrkn on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Xoxo, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—P \*owo*/</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back against the graffitied warehouse wall, Pygma grinned. Everyone knew he </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>to network. But only a select few knew of his secret site </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>for communicating with his fans. It wasn’t easy to find. Sometimes, he planted people at his concerts with little slips of paper with the link. If a Fan followed it, they’d find a list of questions about Pygma’s life and career. And if they got them all right… they’d get access to secret events. Signings, parties, and concerts that Pygma never announced, save for on that secret site. </span>
  <span>His club members received discounts, prizes, and sometimes meet and greets. He hosted their little soirees at numerous secret locations scattered around Outercode. The Fans </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. The secrecy and the exclusive access to him? They </span>
  <em>
    <span>reveled </span>
  </em>
  <span>in it. Each event turned out to be more memorable than the last and—a small frown tugged at his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never thought he’d use his precious site for </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma pushed off the paint-splattered wall, tagged in an inconspicuous corner with a crown, a microphone, and the number 17. He shouldered open the rusty warehouse door. The quiet chatter in the small crowd </span>
  <em>
    <span>died. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The turnout was a bit… disappointing. A few rebellious teens in rainbow-hued clothes, some middle-aged fans who could afford the limited-time merch. Ah, and was that the red-boned baker? Cute, he hadn’t expected him to show up after he’d wrecked his place. But even the strangely dedicated Fell skeleton seemed cautious, magic sparking on his fingertips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all parted like the Red Sea as he strut through them. The echoing hall enunciated each click of his sparkly pink heels. Pygma knew he could hear a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mic </span>
  </em>
  <span>drop in this silence. Usually, his massive crowds roared so loud that the Code Guard got noise complaints from many neighborhoods away. His Fans loved him. They liked letting the </span>
  <em>
    <span>whole </span>
  </em>
  <span>world know it. And, even now, that was why they showed up. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Good. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walked to the makeshift stage, his frown twisted into a terrible smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Babes. We’re here to get the word out on </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>where my allegiance lies. Who’re the good guys? The bad? Who are you going to believe?” His voice boomed across the empty warehouse. Back still turned to the Fans, he whirled, coat flaring with dramatic effect. That terrible smirk disappeared, melting into one of his more familiar rebellious expressions. The murmurs started back up again. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re confused, my Punk Peasants. I know you’re doubting me, especially after the incident with the guard. But can you really trust Stern after he admitted to his corruption?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spread his hands. “We’re going to film a livestream—rainbow teens, that’s going to be your job—and show people I’m not what I seem. We’ll play some party games, have a good time. All my other subjects are going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>disappointed they missed out. I even gathered up some refreshments!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a snap of his fingers, a trembling attendant wheeled out a rainbow of colored drinks and snacks. They quickly walked off as the Fans hesitantly approached. Pygma pranced over, sloppily spooned some sort of purple punch into a cup, and downed it. He grinned, twirling the empty cup on his finger. “See, Babes? Harmless. Don’t worry~ I’d never do any </span>
  <em>
    <span>permanent </span>
  </em>
  <span>damage to any of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few nervous laughs rippled through the anxious crowd as he winked. Some Fans approached. Others hesitantly followed. The Punk Prince threw his arms around a few of the teens tentatively sipping the punch. “Right then, my fabulous fuckers. Let’s get to work showing the world what we’re up to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>V’ans Dal—better known as Van, Vandal Sans, or the red-boned baker—couldn’t put a phalange on why this gathering bothered him so much. Everything seemed fine. The little party, nervous by Pygma’s previous violence, seemed pretty ready to flee when their potentially pugnacious Prince showed himself. But he was normal. He cursed, he laughed, and he joked. And he started singing songs on request. None of it seemed abnormal for one of his secret parties….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Punk Peasants started dancing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sang along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They snacked and drank and made merry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>did he feel like something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He took a swig of his purple punch—the only color out of the rainbow of drinks he felt safe drinking. Pygma sampled it and nothing happened to him. Though, Van supposed, nothing happened to the others who drank from the red, the yellow, the orange. Still, Van’s gut feelings never tended to be wrong. It was why he’d survived so long in his harsh world, found the love of his life, moved here and found his passion for baking. Though, speaking of his love... maybe he should just go home. His precious songbird tended to get jealous when he went to these events.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heh, Cassa always puffed out his cheek when he returned, asked why he couldn’t just listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>sing. His colorful partner definitely had a decent following of his own, a bunch of pop-adoring fans crowding to hear his happy tunes. As they should! His darling skele had a lovely voice! And don’t get Van wrong, he loved his siren’s songs. But he also found a lot of reminders of his birthplace in Pygma’s harsh ballads about the wrongness of the world. He never wanted to go back to his world of unpredictable death and horror. But… he did like the idea of being able to fix the wrongness. It just </span>
  <em>
    <span>resonated </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, overall, the concerts were just fun! And he knew Cass respected </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wanted his husband to be happy and have hobbies, just as Van wanted him to. Cassa didn’t even mind the fact that Pygma could muster more of a following than him. No, what got Van kicked onto the couch was when he joked about his celebrity crush on the Prince, how he’d totally defend his honor. His love </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>his jealousy could only be irrational—even admitted to it, a few times! Because Van, after all, would never put on cat ears and summon an ecto tail and curl in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pygma’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>lap to try and regain his forgiveness after a jealous bout. He wouldn’t make big, cute eyes that he knew his love would </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to resist—and fail, eventually crumbling into Van’s waiting arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Van would always and </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>have soothing words and intimate touches for his beloved husband….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His songbird was probably getting nervous by now. It’d been a few hours. Van said he’d be out for a bit. But the last vestiges of evening light started to fade in the broken windows of the warehouse. Van could see him trying not to pace, trying to just cuddle Virgo and Ophie and stay calm. Maybe he clung to them, one hand looping around one child to rest on his slowly swelling stomach, while they huddled on the couch. Maybe they watched some kids movie to soothe his nerves. Van sighed, pushing off the wall. Yeah, he couldn’t ignore his instincts </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>the image of a hormonal Cassa trying not to cry in front of their kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The red-boned baker started heading towards the rusty door. He was going to have to accept a couple of “harsh” slaps, then hugs, then muted screeches, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>hugs before being yanked into the bedroom. What happened from there depended on Cassa’s mood….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Van smiled. Yeah, he loved that man. Even with his cute jealous fits, he loved him—he let out a slight cough. Geez, was the punch spiked? It was starting to burn in the back of his throat. Then in his veins. His blood began to </span>
  <em>
    <span>boil. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Van’s green soul pulsed with panic. It hurts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It hurts. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clawing, clawing, from the inside out. His marrow was trying— trying to— </span>
  <b>
    <em>it hurt</em>
  </b>
  <span>. No. No. He had to get home. He had to! Cassa. Virgo. Ophie. The baby! No. No, no, nononononono— before the agony tore his panicked thoughts to shreds…. Van saw the image of his Cass… huddled close with his children…. Their </span>
  <em>
    <span>kids. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And. He just had to reach them. He had to. He was coming home. He promised. No more concerts! He— He—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Van just started screaming their names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wasn’t the only one. Fans who consumed the purple punch felt their veins catch fire. Others clutched their throats, as they couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Some shivered, teeth chattering as they desperately huddled into the writhing bodies of those who clutched their heads, as though the press of their hands could keep the terrible headaches at bay. A few were pressed into the ground by a gathering weight, skin and bones slowly bruising as they felt heavier and heavier. The tamest suffering came from the weakness brought on by one of the drink bowls. And yet the terrifying cacophony made them panic more. Unable to lift their heads, lift themselves up to run, or even open their eyes, they couldn’t see why their compatriots screamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing, Pygma mused, that he hadn’t spiked one of the bowls with the liquor that made skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>tear </span>
  </em>
  <span>like </span>
  <em>
    <span>paper</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like he’d said, he didn’t want to cause any </span>
  <em>
    <span>permanent </span>
  </em>
  <span>damage… at least not permanent physical damage. Though he had had fun dosing each punch Russian Roulette style. As </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d make the effects easy to guess. Even he hadn’t known which of his liquors was in which punch! But he knew each poison’s symptoms intimately… He toyed with one of his colored vials in his fingers, watching the red liquid swish back and forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, the very liquor that gave him power </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a poison if you didn’t have a tolerance for it. And Pygma’s had been cultivated since he was a child! Oh, to be writhing as they had, screaming and convinced he’d die. But he’d be fine an hour later. It burned less with each dose, too~ Ah, the red still burned a little when he drank it </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But then the burning turned to delightful pain as he could shape his body parts into weapons. The orange drew heat from the body to expel into fire breath, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, perhaps he should turn back to his audience at home. Pygma easily plucked one of the still-streaming phones from the weakened grasp of one of the teens. He smiled in a relaxed manner. “So sorry to anyone who’s missing out~ Your </span>
  <b>
    <em>favorite </em>
  </b>
  <span>villain’s loved partying with his precious fans. Is everyone having a good time?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jerkily, he turned the camera to the suffering masses laid out before him. Some only screamed in response. Others begged to make it stop. But Pygma’s attention settled on one human man trying to shakily sneak out the door. Oho, some smarty had decided not to take the suspicious punch offered by the violent artist. “You!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here~ I need a cameraman. Though if you run~ I’ll just catch you. And I’ll make you drink the concentrated stuff—” He held up the red vial. “—instead of a dilution. There’d be no lovely delay. Just iiiiiinstant pain~ Far more intense than these suckers. Do you want to find out? That might be fun. Or do you want to play your part? Come on, don’t be shy now~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man whimpered as he shakily, obediently walked back, trying not to look at the screaming people he stepped over. Pygma purred as he took the phone and shakily focused on the villainous prince. “Good boy~ Now. Are the heroes going to come stop me? Stern? Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You know what, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>want Stern to come. If anyone else tries, I’ll start picking off people one-by-one~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he wouldn’t actually do it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>for PR once he became a hero again! Pygma giggled. Aw, he was going to have to do so much to earn the Fans’ trust back. That’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much harder to do with a death on his hands~ A bit of torture seemed fine, though. Fans could mindlessly follow. No matter how terrible of something their precious celebrity did, they’d forget—BANG! Pygma let out an embarrassingly excited squeal as a familiar foot kicked the rusty door open. He downed his red liquor. His phalanges burned. They sharpened into long, metal razors. He bounced on the balls of his feet as the dust cleared and— </span>
  <b>w a i t. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>I wanted Stern!” Pygma stomped, manic expression bordering on a deranged pout. “What, do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>me to start killing a few of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised one casual, razored claw up to his sobbing cameraman’s throat. But a black tendril yanked his hand away. It slammed him into the wall. Pygma belted out a choking laugh as a blue-and-white-clad Jericho warily lowered his staff. “...I don’t want to hurt you, Pygma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bullshit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I hurt your precious little boyfriend~ You probably want me dead. Hehehehahaha~ Oops. Spoooooileeeers~” Pygma’s insane giggles didn’t mix well with the pained screeches. Jericho let out a shaky breath, </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to stay calm. Just. Restrain. Don’t. Escalate. “You know, I bet if your brother and I both became villains, and you were the hero, they’d still believe we were good and you were bad. Oh~ Can you imagine? Do you think enough corruption would get him to take me ba—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That much made the silver brother summon a wall of furious tendrils to slam into the paint-splattered maniac. But Pygma took advantage of his anger. He cut through the first tendril around his throat. He ran, hidden in the raging torrent screeching for his blood. He burst through the black wave of anger with claws outstretched. Tackling the surprised Jericho to the ground, he dug his claws deep into the taller skeleton’s shoulders. The silver brother grit his teeth through the pain. Pygma leaned down. “Wearing the old ‘good suit,’ Jeri? Heheheha~  We know how well that went </span>
  <em>
    <span>last </span>
  </em>
  <span>time…. How long do you think it’ll take for everyone watching to turn on you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Punk Prince froze as Jeri’s eyes burned a cold blue. A black wave rushed over the both of them. Pygma choked on the concentrated despair. Jericho kicked him off. He was tossed into the torrent. It swirled and swirled. It flung him high into the air. He dug his claws into the rafters. He could barely grip onto the rotting wood, could feel it shaking with his weight. Pygma grit his teeth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jericho would have an advantage here. Pygma basically hand-fed the negative guardian his own Punk Peasants’ suffering. He glared down at the cold blue pinpricks glowing in the eye of a black whirlpool of suffering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t win here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Digging his claws into the rotting wood, the Punk Prince scrambled across the rafters and out of a hole in the ceiling. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>despised </span>
  </em>
  <span>how undramatic his exit felt…. Retreating into the shadows, he sunk into a puddle of black ink.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Calculated Risk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the author finally describes the setting--and answers some important questions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“N-N-No, p-please don’t hurt me, please—!” The shivering, paint-splattered cat monster curled further into a ball as Jericho approached. He hesitated, clutching his staff. There were <em> many </em> reasons why he hadn’t wanted to come alone to confront Pygma…. Not a one of them had to deal with his ability to fight him off. That was easy enough, with how <em> little </em>thinking the deadly bastard seemed to be doing nowadays. It was just that—</p><p>“P-P-Please, I just want to go home….”</p><p>“C-Cassa! O-Ophie—!”</p><p>“Somebody save us….”</p><p>“H-Help.”</p><p>His presence… never reassured citizens, nevermind panicked, hurt ones. And, sure, some of it <em> could </em> be solved with a touch of hypnotism. But when all of them were afraid to even look him in the eye? Well. There wasn’t much he <em> could </em> do. Forcing compliance could only worsen their fear. So just as he’d done <em> all </em>his life when people assumed his alignment—Jeri just put on a smile.</p><p>“Don’t worry, citizen!” He chirped, face lighting up with a sunny smile that made his cheeks ache. “I’m here to help, haha. The paramedics will be here soon, don’tcha worry. I’m just checkin’ on everybody in the meantime. Here—”</p><p>He lightly draped the thick, white cloak over the teen cat. “—you can borrow this for now~ How’re you feeling? I’m sure that was scary. But don’tcha worry, m’kay?”</p><p>Jericho’s lips pressed together tightly as the young monster relaxed under the bubbly facade. Funny, how he could put on this shiny, easily-popped mask. The rainbows dancing on the surface dazzled everyone who saw it. When they saw his face through the cheerful distortion, he could make it seem like he was smiling, make it <em> seem </em>like he enjoyed acting like an airhead. And while he did, he could drift among them peacefully. He could have “friends.” But if those “friends” ever brushed away the mask to see the icy face streaked with frozen tears…? They left. </p><p>
  <em> Nothing had changed since his last good arc.  </em>
</p><p>Sirius watched the subtle shake to Jeri’s shoulders as he tended to the victims in that airy manner. And while every citizen seemed to enjoy seeing this fake persona eclipse his beloved, he just turned away. After all, when the moon let its nightly beauty be destroyed by the golden radiance of the blaring sun, leaving the merest silhouette? You weren’t supposed to look. The barest slivers of golden light could blind you in that rare sort of beauty that the haloed illusion brought. Only idiots would allow themselves to think that this “happy” false sun could be permanent.</p><p>The little bodyguard just hoped it wouldn’t last too long…. </p><p>***</p><p>Odie puffed up his cheeks, pushing out the air in a long, stressfully whistled exhale. His teeth crunched on the tart ice left over from his drink. His eyes remained locked on the T.V. as he leaned on the back of the couch where Stern snored. He wasn’t pleased by what had gone down with Pygma…. The obsessive little bastard was getting worse and worse each day. He glanced at the stack of magazines (secretly owned and published by the Punk Prince) which bore titles such as "Who <em>is </em>Stern's New Boyfriend" and "What Romance Blooms for the Golden Brother?" They'd popped up not hours after Pygma's torture-fest with his fans... probably after Pygma saw Stern's public reveal of his new relationship. And he was probably turning his obsessive focus to finding out that much.... He decided then and there that it was a damn good thing he hadn't let Stern go to fight him. </p><p>It went as well as he could have hoped it would. Watching reporters swarm the scene and ask the “Hero” Jericho what had happened was pretty amusing—as if they couldn’t fill in the blanks from watching Pygma’s terrifying live stream themselves. Still, the silver brother always seemed far more skilled with the press. And dealing with victims, an injured boyfriend, and cautious Code Guard to boot? The Head Councilman couldn’t help but be impressed. Though, watching poor Sirius limp around as he tried to help his love crowd control was a bit…. Well, at least Jericho wasn’t alone. </p><p>It’d been a few hours since then and, of course, Stern was still out cold. Reporters could already be found taking statements from the less damaged victims. Though, other “Punk Peasants” weren’t so lucky to be out and about just yet…. From what he’d been told, others still laid strapped to their hospital beds, knocked out to better deal with the poison screaming through their veins. Odie remembered counting the ambulances streaming in chaotic red streaks far below his window. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Pygma’s plan had attracted more flies to his trap. The image of a brightly-colored venus fly trap leading innocent insects to his jaws suddenly rose in his mind….</p><p>“You just said you wanted <em> hostages, </em> Pygma. Not… this,” Odie murmured, tossing his glass to shatter in the sink. He’d clean it up later. For now, he needed to get ready to face his own barrage of questions from the press, comfort the people, have Jeri pick up his drunk-ass brother—a loud, droning buzz cut through his thoughts. The speaker by the door incessantly drew his attention. The Head Councilman pinched his brow. Who the hell would want to see him <em> now? </em>The Press couldn’t get in, the guards wouldn’t let them. Unless they snuck in? Could it be someone from his office? But they would have tried to reach him over the phone, they knew better…. Then who…?</p><p>Despite his many questions, the speaker just kept buzzing. Odie would have <em> loved </em> to ignore it, but… if it <em> was </em> important…. Ugh, it was another thing to do. No rest for the wicked and all that. He pressed a palm to his tired eyes, as though he could rub away the bags dragging down his sockets. He dragged himself to the door with a sigh. Jamming his thumb into the button, he grumbled into the speaker, “Look, if this isn’t urgent—”</p><p>“<em> Dad, </em> let me <em> the fuck </em>in.” Odie’s blood ran cold as his son’s angry voice blasted into the quiet room. “D-Dad, please, I-I can’t…. I can’t be alone right now.”</p><p>Well, the councilman definitely would categorize his <em> very </em>pregnant and mood-swinging son, who was trying and failing not to cry, as very important. Arguably, he should have let the city’s needs come first. But…. Odie crumbled as he pushed the button to let him teleport in. And as the brightly colored skeleton warped into the room to face his equally colorful, slightly shorter father—his face seemed torn between an angry hiss and a terrified sob. He seemed to settle on the sob as he dove into Odie’s open arms. </p><p>“P-Papa…!” Cassa whimpered. The harsh little skeleton softened <em> considerably </em>at the childish monker coming from his twenty-five-year-old son. He cradled him tenderly as they both sank to the floor. Odie buried his boy in his embrace, wrapping protectively around him. Aaaand Stern’s raucous snores shattered the tense, tragic moment…. He sighed as he felt Cassa tense angrily.</p><p>Well, that was the last time he invited the winged brother for drinks for a while…. </p><p>“Dad, why the <em> fuck </em> did you let that happen— why— why would you—?!” Cassa pushed out of his arms to glare at him. He started to protest as Odie stood, surrounded his soul with dark blue energy, and lifted him with a flick of his hand. “Put me the <em> fuck </em>down—!”</p><p>“Cassa, you need to sit down.” Odie winced as his progeny’s outraged volume made Stern toss on the couch. He quickly walked out of the lounge area and into his office, settling his son on the loveseat and sitting next to him. Cassa scoot away from him with a growl. His pink eyes sparked in pure rage as Odie’s blue magic gently prevented him from getting up.</p><p>“Let me <em> go. </em> Don’t— Don’t <b> <em>fucking </em> </b> tell me to sit down right now. Van’s in the <em> hospital </em> because your fucking— fucking— celebrity <em> pets </em>decided to play games with him. And the other citizens too!” Cassa struggled against the magic. Odie let him tire himself out, face impassive and calm… and hiding the storm of conflicted emotions bubbling beneath the surface. As his frustrations grew, Cassa’s clear distress took over. He sank back into the cushions, burying his face in his hands. “I— I— I don’t know what those poisons are going to do to him. Who knows how long they’ll last. I—”</p><p>“An hour.” Odie sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin on the interlaced bridge of his fingers. He stared at the floor as Cassa fell into a shocked silence. </p><p>“...<b> <em>What</em> </b>?”</p><p>“Pygma’s poisons—Loki’s liquor— last an hour.”</p><p>“So. You knew. That this would happen?” Cassa bit out. The councilman visibly winced. </p><p>“I didn’t know he’d use them on his own fans, let alone that Van would be there—”</p><p>“But you <em> suspected </em>it could happen. Don’t lie to me. I know you.”</p><p>“...I considered it.” Odie flopped back against the plush cushions with a tired sigh. This time, as Cassa lurched to his feet, he let him…. </p><p>“Fuck! Just. <em> Fuck, </em> Dad. I-I just. He was screaming my name when I found him. <em> Screaming. </em>A-And they had to pry him away from me. H-He just— I-I—” Cassa shook, wrapping his arms around himself as though he could replace the ones he wished could hold him right now. Odie’s soul lurched slightly as he saw, just beneath his son’s thick sweater, the spark of life in Cassa’s belly glow with its mother’s panic. He stood, shakily grabbing his wrist.</p><p>“Cassa. <em> Please </em>. You need to sit down….” Odie gently led him towards his own desk chair. Cassa trembled. </p><p>“I’ve never heard him scream,” the young skeleton whispered. “Not like that.”</p><p>“...I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much right now. But I really… I really didn’t expect this to happen. I thought of it in passing but…. I didn’t know.” Odie gently clasped his boy’s hands. Cassa seemed skeptical… but just too distressed to question that much further. He bowed his head, resting it against his father’s skull with a light <em> clack. </em>They just stayed there, the younger drawing comfort from the familiar, comforting presence of his parent; the parent stewing in the guilt the younger’s distress brought him. Eventually, his son broke the tentative silence. </p><p>“...Why do you keep... letting <em> them </em>do this, Dad?” Cassa vaguely gestured in the direction of the snores echoing through the office door. Odie sighed, pushing himself to his feet. His gaze fell upon the rising sun…. </p><p>“Cassa… when you look out at Outercode… what do you see?” Odie murmured, tired eyes turning back to his son’s. Cassa hesitated, looking down on the view before them. </p><p>Sunlight spilled over the white, crater-pocked horizon of Outercode’s moon. Oblivious of the previous night’s horrors, the light jumped joyfully across the cityscape’s shining expanse. It dived down through curving forests growing horizontally from the sides of shimmering skyscrapers, dappled drips of gold running through their leaves to parks singing the sleepy songs from a veritable rainbow of echo flowers. It overtook the neon lights that blared through the night. It melted the frost clinging to the Christmas-shingled wooden cabins scattered and buried throughout. The light hopped like an eager squirrel across the thick cables dragging the bleary-eyed workers to their jobs below. </p><p>The higher the sun climbed, the more outlandish each structure became—almost like each level added on wanted to out-crazy the last. One Japanese-style house hid in the shadow of an office strung up with cables like a spider’s cocooned victim, where some Muffets built a tycoon to compete with the allied chains of Grillby restaurants making their march down the streets. Warmly-clad citizens of all shapes and sizes always bustled down the wide roads. Uniform only in their choice of clothing, they shared the desire to stay warm in the depths of space. </p><p>Cleaners began their work removing the little stalls that cropped up in the night. Sideways, upside down, tucked into discrete corners, Tem shops occasionally, randomly popped up everywhere. Brave Code Guard hurried to the shining watch towers to take up their shifts defending the AU from outside threats that would make these internal conflicts seem like petty squabbles. Criminals sold every illegal substance from any AU you could name as the internal Code Guard tried to stop them. Scientists and mechanics bustled around, tending to the army of machines, including ones that: lowered gravity, prevented resets, restricted teleportation in some areas, heated the city, made some buildings float, and others still alerted the Guard of any unregistered Code entering the inner city. </p><p>Yet Odie’s eyes couldn’t help but soften as he looked down on all of them. All the brilliant minds and dastardly deeds made his home this chaotic, warm place for any outcode to turn to. They <em> all </em> added flavor to this cultural hub. But in a world brimming with outcodes—monsters, humans, gods, and amalgamates alike—nothing remained uniform. Each immigrant brought with them a piece of their culture. Each contributed to the chaotic conglomerate that became their landscape. And… that was utterly beautiful to him.</p><p>Yet such a glaring reminder of universal unity tended to attract dangerous eyes. Odie knew that all too well, as his gaze traced the lit ring of needle-pointed watch towers. The lights meant danger. The lights mean that they were under attack from outside forces…. That guards dusted and died beyond the walls they protected. </p><p>His gaze traced back to Cassa’s, who looked so tired and scared as he watched the sun rise. He probably hadn’t slept a wink all night. There seemed to be some understanding flashing those pink eyes…. But Odie gave him another minute. He turned back to watch the sun bask the original Stardin in a soft glow. Tucked in a quiet corner behind the looming, chaotic shadow that was Code-In, it remained untouched out of respect of the original citizens…. </p><p>Long gone, save for him.</p><p>The idea still set a cold pit of loneliness bubbling in his chest. If he squinted, Odie knew he could see his own, futuristic cabin twinkling with yellow and blue Christmas lights. And, knowing Cassa, his twins were there with Lu—Odie’s own husband—playing in the little backyard. But despite the sadness that came with knowing his old friends, his brother… were gone… he wasn’t alone in that experience. Most codes here knew that feeling too well. It was one reason why he cherished them all. And he liked to have that reminder that home was so close, even if he stayed in his highrise work apartment during the week. And it was nice to know that much at least hadn’t changed.</p><p>Finally, Odie spoke. “Outercode is controlled chaos, Cassa. And chaos just begets more chaos. A home like ours is bound to bring in powerful outcodes. We are a haven for them. And we welcome them knowing the risks…. But some go beyond just having outrageous powers and names. Playing house with dangerous outcodes—like Stern, like Jericho, and, yes, even like Pygma—is far better than the alternative.”</p><p>“...Which is…?” Cassa tentatively asked. Odie sighed. </p><p>“...It’s better than seeing the chaos give way to something far, far worse. It’s better that we let them make this their home, these tentatively tame gods. Because they will play their games, sure. But they will also defend their playground from anyone who would seek to take their toys from them…. For just a moment, I want you to imagine what would happen if any of the Celebristars decided they wanted to <em> destroy </em> Outercode. It’s better we stay on their good side…”</p><p>Odie closed his eyes, knowing that that decision had cost him and the city so much. It brought so much safety, security, and yet <em> so </em>much danger all the same. It was akin to letting cats sadistically toy with a box full of oblivious mice. But… there were worse Codes out there. Codes that would just kill all the people here because they were “abominations.” Codes that would feed on suffering. Codes that just saw the walls brimming with monsters as another way to gain LV.</p><p>He opened his eyes burning with the bright yellow of his soul trait—justice. “There’s only so much the Code Guard can defend us from.”</p><p>And just as they died to defend the outside threats, Odie would do anything he could to protect the lives within…. Even if that meant selling his soul to as many powerful devils as he could appease.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd have warned you about some exposition at the beginning, buuuuuuuuuuut. I hope you liked it :3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Deals with Devils</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Where what came before was only a distraction....</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>But Odie wasn’t the only one willing to deal with and coexist with the world’s dangerous superbeings. In an AU as big and diverse as Outercode, one could expect their criminal underbelly to be massive. For every dazzling light there could be cast a darker shadow—only, some of the lights were as gray as their morals and they cast their own shadows. These paradoxical characters often remained the main focus of media attention. As they swung back and forth between the love and hate of the public, they made a big, entertaining show. And that was fine. The dark characters looming backstage were fine to be considered… “minor” threats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were plenty of hungry “minor” heroes eager to step up and fight against them anyway. Thus, Pygma rarely had anything to do with the “real” criminals. But the three that’d responded to his call seemed quite eager to accept his proposal. So, as proper villains did, he called them to a dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t even hours after the “Poisoned Peasants” incident, as the news had taken to calling it…. But the meeting had been pre-arranged. And as for the peasants…? Well. He couldn’t have any Code Guard barging in. He could only hope these villains would hear him out before making any attempts on his life!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe ya had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gall </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call me when the “bodyguards” I loaned ya were so thoroughly beaten in that dumbass reporter stunt. You coulda just asked us to take and beat up little Sirius, but nooooo. Had to do it yerself, record it, and roooooyally </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck it up</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don Shovel of the Mob Mob crushed his cigar in his teeth, spitting it out in his rage. The ember’s trail made a brilliant arc before landing in a sizzling heap on the dingy, wet floor. Now, as ridiculous as his moniker and, arguably, organization’s name was, nobody laughed at the Don. At least, nobody without a death wish. When you could not only earn the respect of almost every Mobtale!Sans that made their way to Outercode, but also get them under your thumb? When you had those Mobtale!Sanses for hire as legitimately registered bodyguards for the good guys, or for the shady dealings of the bad?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucked with a man who played both sides. Even if that man carried a golden, bedazzled shovel that begged a snicker from anyone’s lips. But, that was how the naming system worked in the Mob Mob—whatever weapon you carried became your new title. Board, Club, and Bat all stood with their own moniker hefted over their shoulders, looming with their Don against the wall….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And</span>
  <em>
    <span> I</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought you'd pick somewhere classier, Pyg~mal~ion~" Pygma winced as the Black Knight crooned out his full name. Kicking his feet from his perch on a stack of crates, the corrupt Chess!Sans juggled shining pawns in his boredom. Now as smart as the guy could be, he was largely just a nuisance.... He could cordon off large sections of Code-In with his massively complicated puzzles. But then he basically had a hostage scenario until the Code Guard paid him for</span>
  <em>
    <span> hints</span>
  </em>
  <span> to solve them. The guy liked fucking with the council the most—biggest pay out he could get, made sense. But he wasn't as </span>
  <em>
    <span>violent </span>
  </em>
  <span>as he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>annoying</span>
  </em>
  <span>… on the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bastard was really fucking good at purchasing the worst information for the best price— BK loved his blackmail, loved his secrets, and that was probably the only reason the council hadn’t buried him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the two threats before him did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>compare to the skeleton lightly clacking his way into the room. The heavyset body, all thick bone and radiated strength, didn’t so much as lean into the aesthetic, noisy cane announcing his arrival to the whole of the room. And everyone went quiet as he did. After all, no villain tried to start something big… without offering the Gourmand a </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So sorry I’m—</span>
  <em>
    <span>urp! </span>
  </em>
  <span>excuse me—late, gentlemen. I had to have a nurse over for dinner to get myself a seat at this fine table.” The Gourmand dabbed at his wide, square teeth before elegantly pocketing his handkerchief. Elegant in dress with a feathered bowler hat, dress pants, and the standard Horror!Sans hoodie draped over his shoulders, he seemed polite enough. Small red flecks marred his pleasant, pearly-white smile….. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucked with a skeleton who was called Lecter behind his back—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You missed a spot, Gormie!” The Black Knight snickered, adding a few more chess pieces to his juggling mix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, thank you!” He hurriedly retrieved his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also I think you have a bit of nurse stuck between your teeth~”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knight! You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I dislike talking about my meals. It’s rude to disrespect the dead….” The Gourmand put an affronted hand to his chest. But the ever-stupid, ever-intelligent puzzle master just hopped down and pocketed his pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry my friend~ It’s just been a while!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm my only friends are the ones I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough to keep off the menu….” The Gourmand murmured. The Black Knight paled as that hulking form began to slowly, slowly stalk forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-Now wait a minute. W-We’re friends, right? Right?! G-Gourma—eek!” The puzzle master almost tripped over a crate as the calculating cannibal came to loom over him. Shaking like a leaf, he froze as the Gourmand reached out… and pat his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My nights in the asylum would be so much more boring without your delightful exploits. So, yes, we’re friends.” That eerie smile turned impossibly wider. The Black Knight just squeaked. Seemingly satisfied, the most feared villain in the room turned to the others. “Now. Let’s discuss why we’re here, shall we? Pygma, you mentioned… hm, what was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘A-A shot at that angel bastard,’ I think that’s what he said,” BK quickly stuttered out under that terrible, red gaze. Pygma just nodded, allowing the Gourmand to take point. It was as though all the villains had been waiting for him to take charge….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I just need to get a few things done, and then I’ll get you your shot…. At </span>
  <em>
    <span>either </span>
  </em>
  <span>brother, depending on how my plans go,” Pygma said carefully. The Gourmand just nodded amicably. “You three could all come at them at once, or separately. Just don’t kill them. And occupy them for as long as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course not. Morgenstern and Jericho are important parts of the Outercode food chain…. Can’t take out the apex predators without expecting overpopulation, take out a keystone without collapse….” The Horror!Sans tapped his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean my guys won’t beat the shit out of ‘em though.” Don Shovel snorted after his long silence. “We’re still pissed at what Jericho did to one of our ‘bodyguards’....”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I can attract attention by making a big puzzle downtown!” The Black Knight chirped, sidling away from his ‘friend.’ “A-And then the Mob Mob can pounce on him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All eyes turned to the Gourmand as he thought on his role. “...I can keep a few of the minor heroes busy so we can guarantee Stern, or both brothers, comes to you all…. I’m sure if I provoke my rival enough, he’ll come rushing in with a little squad. He’ll not want to get the Celebristars involved if he can get a chance for glory himself. Especially if I give him a few days to prepare….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma smiled, finally relaxing. “Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking mention it. If I weren’t so pissed at the more </span>
  <em>
    <span>permanent </span>
  </em>
  <span>damage the brothers did, I’d be digging your grave right now,” Don Shovel snarled. “And I don’t see </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>hopping up to do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come now…. I said my plans might change. If something goes awry with my plans for Stern, then you’ll have both. If something doesn’t, you’ll get to beat the main source of your anger—Jericho. But what’s the fun in telling you my role if I don’t know what it’ll be yet~?” Pygma chuckled. The Don opened his mouth to object, but snapped it shut as the Gourmand held up a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I want to see what this fledgling has planned. How will his dark wings spread? On fields of blood? Cacophonous chaos? The echoes of obsession…? How will your first tryst into true villainy take flight, Pygma…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautifully.” The artist’s face turned so dark in the haunting shadows of the abandoned warehouse. He disappeared into a puddle of ink—the resulting splatter making a rorschach mockery of raven’s wings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a dramatic, crazy bastard….” The Gourmand just shook his head. And then he finally picked the nurse’s flesh from his teeth and flicked it into a corner. When morning came, it remained as one of the only pieces of evidence left to commemorate the dark meeting—along with a single pawn and a chewed-up cigar.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just want to thank the Lexonomicon for not only helping me come up with these villains, but even DRAWING them. She's awesome and has helped me plot out some parts of this story--though I didn't tell her that the boys would be introduced so soon.</p><p>So there are secrets even SHE doesn't know! MWHAHAHAHAHA.</p><p>Anyway, here's her DA ^^ https://www.deviantart.com/thelexinomicon/art/OuterCode-Villains-Lineup-839643590 Give her some love!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Perceptions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>How people view you is rarely how you view yourself.... But those who know you tend to know a lot about the real you.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jericho remembered, with viciously vivid detail, the first day he saw Outercode’s walls. It seemed <em> alive </em>to him. The steel structure rose like a behemoth monarch, with its thorny crown of needlepoint watchtowers bearing down upon them. Many windows became its many eyes staring down on the cautious brothers. The wall’s angled supports seemed to make the facets of a scowling, judging face. It glared in the light of the distant sun. It wailed in alarm as the brothers came closer.</p><p>Stern hesitantly approached the shining barrier like it was a cornered animal. They were new and unfamiliar. He couldn’t know how it would react to them. But Jeri? He walked forward with open arms and a smile on his face. Perhaps he thought the cruel hope blossoming in his chest could soothe the savage beast. If he was gentle, it could accept him. He could tame it, settle with it, and they could protect each other—! But what Jericho didn’t realize was that the wall wasn’t a timid prey animal. It was a mother wolf <em> savagely </em>protecting its den. And while it saw no issue in the bright brother….</p><p>The watchtower lights lit upon Jericho like a predator fixating on prey. </p><p>The fiery crown blazed into the starry heavens.</p><p>And Jericho learned to hate his own code, the very building blocks of his being, all over again. For the scurrying figures of the Code Guard didn’t roll out a welcome mat or rush to tell him it was okay. They’d take him, accept him, when no one else would…!</p><p>No. They simply screamed, “Nightmare!”</p><p>***</p><p>As Jericho closed his eyes on the terrified glances of the citizens before him now, all he saw was the fear of those Code Guard in the past. He disguised a bitter smile with a hand covering a false yawn. They never welcomed him as a hero. </p><p>Not then—he opened his tired, tired eyes—and most certainly not <em> now.  </em></p><p>But he had to admit that he’d missed the blue-white clothes of his hero costume. Flowing and elegant, the comfortable white robes made him seem like a gentle priest or spellcaster. The soft blue runes weaving protection and durability into the fabric and the silver headdress—just really made it look like he was a man of the, heh, cloth. He’d traded his dark purple capes for a rich, royal blue. And silver bracelets and anklets gently jingled as he walked. </p><p>Siri once said they looked like manacles. All they were missing were the chains… but now? Maybe the invisible links just dragged his cheeks into a false smile with every fake cheerful wave. They pulled at his cheeks like boards tugging along a <em> happy little marionette. </em>They only grew tighter as each citizen relaxed under the faux bubbly demeanor. And he could have screamed. Wanted to. But when the scared citizens needed someone to latch on to, how could he say, “Please, I just want to frown and scowl and be sarcastic without you thinking I’m going to kill you!”</p><p>Perhaps it was that distraction, that silent, screaming plea… that led the silver brother to his current predicament.</p><p>Pygma gleefully drove his heel into Jeri’s chest. The expression on his face barely resembled a smile in all its manic twistings…. A ring of terrified citizens watched them. They recorded the violence under Pygma’s orders. Because who wanted to end up like the Poisoned Peasants? Who wanted to fuck with a man who could bring the <em> corrupted </em> <b> <em>evil </em> </b> brother to his knees? Or, to his back, rather. Bleeding. Not even fighting back because what was the <em> fucking </em> point? Jeri was beyond tired and pretty damn sure a lot of things were broken too…. But, he supposed if the citizens weren’t willing to stop Pygma as he forced them to record the destruction of their homes… why help <em> him?  </em></p><p>Or, you know. Do the <em> smart </em> thing and try to run, call someone…. Anything to spare his poor brother from having to deal with his psycho ex. Jeri thought he’d be able to take Pygma on his own again. But… the bastard was <em> prepared. </em> And Jericho was <em> distracted. </em> And now his brother, who was the one Pygma had likely been trying to attract <em> again, </em>would have to—</p><p>“It’s not like you to slip up like this, Jeri~” Pygma cooed, orange Loki’s liquor dripping from his teeth. Dragon’s breath, Jericho remembered him calling it. Well, that’d definitely explain the hellfire tinge to the bastard’s eyes and the ash on his coat. Well, that was if the row of burning houses setting Pygma’s face in a hellish halo wasn’t <em> enough </em>of a hint. Bastard looked like a demon—Jeri coughed wetly as the Punk Prince kicked him again. Those sparkly pink heels cracked into his ribs. </p><p>His vision danced. Fire light swirled into a mockery of pained beauty. Pygma jerked him up by his collar. Jeri’s hazy eyes could barely make out the scared citizens’ faces. Their phones’ glows made them look alien, distant…. Floating heads on bodies made of flame.</p><p>“Can you <em> believe </em>they’re still scared of you?” The artist laughed.</p><p>
  <em> Yes. I can.  </em>
</p><p>“I guess a costume change just wasn’t enough, hmmm~?”</p><p>
  <em> No. It would never be. </em>
</p><p>“Say something, you pitiful piece of shit—!” Pygma hissed out a whisper. “—you’re ruining my scene—!”</p><p>But Jericho simply smiled a genuine, cruel smile. The citizens murmured in fear. But he was too hurt and dazed to care. Somehow, he found the strength in him to lean forward and whisper back, “At least I have someone who will <em> still </em> make costumes for me, <em> Pyg. </em>”</p><p>They all just stared as the fear coagulated around Jericho’s body like a black armor to bolster his second wind. And <em> finally, </em> most of them ran…. One stayed behind to film the two demons clashing again, only for an angel to descend from the heavens. And Jericho could only <em> laugh </em>at his reprieve. Because those fleeing citizens didn’t see him as a hero.</p><p>The only note they shared in their screams was the unspoken fear of his code—<em> Nightmare. </em></p><p>***</p><p>“Why the fuck can’t it just be <em> me, </em> Pygma?” Stern screamed as he swung at his cackling former lover. WIth each word came another swing, another kiss of the blade in their intimate dance. “Why Siri? Why Jeri? <em> Just hurt me, </em> <b> <em>damn it</em> </b>!”</p><p>“Because you’ll never talk to me any other way.” In a break between swings, Pygma stepped <em> so </em>close to Stern, body pressed flush against his. It was like he knew him so well that he could time the pattern to those angered slashes…. Stern briefly remembered marvelling about how their forms fit together like puzzle pieces. And he would have just punched Pygma away but—the smaller rested his palms on his chest, gently sliding them up to rest on his shoulders. Fear coursed through Stern as he briefly relaxed at the terribly familiar position. Was he going to kiss him again? No. N-No, not again. H-How did Pygma always manage to make him feel so small, like he had to freeze up and—</p><p>Stern let out a long whine as those hands softly trailed around to massage the base of his wings. Any other time, he would have melted into Pygma. He would have let him do <em> anything </em>as long as he kept up those gentle touches he so… craved…? N-No, that couldn’t be right. It wasn’t. He didn’t. But he was so warm and so gentle and so soft. And… smelled like lemon balm…? Wait, was Pygma wearing his favorite cologne—? </p><p>“Don’t you miss me, Morgie?” The tender motion and tender nickname made Stern’s knees buckle. He grasped onto Pygma’s shoulders to steady himself. His head submissively plopped into the Punk Prince’s shoulders as his skillful fingers threaded through those delicate brass feathers. </p><p>“N-No,” was all Stern managed to hoarsely whisper. Even as he clung to the smaller in an intimate embrace. Even as his wings, his sensitive, sensitive wings, unconsciously and shakingly curled around them, begging for more touch. More preening. More <em> Pygma.  </em></p><p>“Don’t lie…. I know you better than that. I knew your tells even before we started dating.” Pygma nuzzled into the taller’s bowed neck, into a faded bite mark that he could still vaguely see.  The taller’s shivering increased tenfold. He knew the mark was there too…. A-And trusting him, this <em> psychopath </em>, with the most delicate part of himself was fucking stupid. Pygma easily had enough to break his wings or snap his neck. He knew that. But his body remembered the pleasure and affection and wanted it. His heart wanted it, but twisted between sick revulsion, outcrying pain, and sentimental desire. His brain screamed to stop. Stop. Stop!</p><p>“You stutter when you’re lying,” Pygma murmured, as though gently coaxing him. Those fingers tenderly traced each primary, each secondary. And he whimpered as those delicate touches skimmed along the alula. His wings ached for more…. </p><p>“N-No I d-don’t.”</p><p>“Not to the Press…. But it is why they make you nervous. But to me. To Jericho. You get so lost in your head, Morgie~ Lying to your loved ones makes you feel guilty~”</p><p>“I-I-I d-d-don’t. N-N-No.”</p><p>“And the worse you lie—”</p><p>“S-S-S-S—S-St-t-top.”</p><p>“The worse you stutter.” Pygma finished. Stern could hear the satisfied grin in his voice and he <em> hated </em>it. But. All he could manage for a retort was an occasional whimper as his former lover’s phalanges hit his wing’s favorite spots. Blearily, he realized he’d been backed into a charred wall, arms and wings spread like a martyr-to-be-crucified. And Pygma’s hands just wandered across his feathers, until he worked out a dead one. He brushed the soft texture lightly across Stern’s throat as the taller swallowed. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Morgie…. Come back to me…. Be mine again….”</p><p>“I-I don’t…. I have….” Stern’s eyes fluttered shut. Pygma just sighed. The hot breath tickled the winged skeleton’s vertebrae, making him stutter out a breath.</p><p>“When will you realize this new boyfriend of yours is a rebound, Morgie…?” That gentle voice took on a bittersweet tune.</p><p>“He’s not.”</p><p>“But we were together for years…. You picked him up so quickly after you left me…. Days after, you told me. When you were hurting. When you needed someone, anyone, to get over me. Isn’t that all he could be…?”</p><p>“No. We didn’t start dating until a month after.” Stern felt himself coming back, even as Pygma started softly digging his fingers into his scapulars—just the way he liked it. His eyes widened as he saw the ink gathering beneath them. And he shoved Pygma away before the smaller could drag him down into the darkness, down into who knows where to do god knows what to him. The winged skeleton breathed heavily, as though he’d been holding his breath the whole time. Or maybe the quick burst of adrenaline coupled with the mental anguish did it? He didn’t know. Didn’t care. All he registered was the rage boiling in his bones at the sight of that soft, familiar smile. </p><p>He used to love that smile.</p><p>Pygma always smiled like that when he was admiring Stern when he didn’t think Stern was looking—</p><p>“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, my love…. Are you sure you don’t want to at least give me another chance…?” Pygma’s lips fell into a bittersweet half-smile. The bright brother’s wings bristled at that much. He summoned his sword to his hands and glared in answer. The smaller just shook his head. “You know, if you didn’t want me still, your body wouldn’t act like that….”</p><p>The Punk Prince dove into a pool of ink as Stern swung at him. Tears budded in his eyes as another sigh echoed from the deep black portal. He fell to his knees. His sword clattered to the ground. And he could only shudder as he realized how much he forgot himself…. How Pygma had almost <em> taken </em>him. What… what would have happened if…? A-And he’d forgotten all about—!</p><p>Whipping around to his brother’s damaged form, Stern almost let out a sob. He just barely stopped himself from doing so. The Gods only knew who was still watching, listening, <em> recording…. </em> Delicately, he gathered his unconscious brother to his chest. “I-I’m so sorry, Jer….”</p><p>He felt sick as he teleported away to heal him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Step right up, steeeeeeep right up, into the Pygma Punching Booth! 10 g per swing. Do I have any takers?!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Coffee Confessions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>JESUS CHRIST, Stern, don't you know too much coffee is terrible for your nerves, you ANXIOUS BEAN??</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stern refused to sleep that night. Even if Sirius was perfectly willing to keep watch over his boyfriend, Morgenstern felt like he needed some way to attone. He let Siri keep an eye on his brother’s healing form. And the bronze-winged skeleton let his thoughts torment him into exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When will you realize he’s a rebound?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes painfully squeezed shut as he willfully burned his tongue with a fifth, scorching cup of coffee. He coughed as the lava-like liquid seared its way down its throat. But it was better than the alcohol, which took his rationality and turned it into stomach-twisting sentimentality. Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucking wanted it… he didn’t want to feel good, either. The pain helped with his resolve. Sunny was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a rebound. No matter what Pygma said, Stern knew he adored his new lover and his new lover adored him. Sighing heavily, he flipped out his phone just to get a glimpse of that brilliant smile that’d given his Sunshine his nickname.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He traced a finger across the hastily taken shot that was his screensaver. They’d gone on their first real date, to a carnival. And he’d won Sunny this big, stuffed, cartoony, emoji devil pillow. The dark-cloaked skeleton was laughing as he squished the cheap cushion close. His other hand clutched Stern’s offscreen. The shot was blurred by the lesser skill of the bright brother’s left hand as he’d taken the picture. But even if the shot was shit, the happiness on Sunny’s face was clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him ache for one of his love’s perfect hugs—and all he found were the echoes of Pygma’s touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would Sunny hate him for these moments of weakness? When his body succumbed to the familiar affections, starved of it where distance and schedule separated him and Sunny? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>longed </span>
  </em>
  <span>for those deep, affectionate kisses that left him aching and burning in the pleasant fires of his love’s possessiveness. He wanted those hesitant hands to trace so, so carefully over his wings, and erase the unpleasant trails that Pygma left behind. Hug him. Kiss him. Love him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Help him</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em> forget.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The ache in his heart brought tears to his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if Sunny </span>
  <em>
    <span>left </span>
  </em>
  <span>him if he told him? Should he stay silent, burning in the fires of his guilt? Never speaking, even as it consumed him? Should he scream his penance to the heavens, begging forgiveness for those touches that melted him? Why, why, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>did his body fall for it? He’d rather stew in his anger, rather beat Pygma to death—but there his body was, a mess beneath those terribly tender touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—</span>
  <em>
    <span>rebound—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>W-Was that why he’d wanted Sunny? All those months ago, when his gay-panicked, brokenhearted brain’s first response to seeing this cute guy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>FLIRT? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was he just not over Pygma when that first glimpse of that dazzling smile made him weak? When that first, possessive declaration of “mine” made him flush from his skull to his toes, was he just missing his former lover? What if Pygma was right—? And, at that thought, Stern knew he had to call Sunny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if his love had every excuse to hate him, or even leave him, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. He couldn’t keep this bright star in the dark. And if he had to say it, dared to… h-he felt like they were soulmates. No such concept really tied lovers together in this universe. He knew that. And they’d fought and they’d struggled, like any couple did. But if love at first sight could be real, if some relationship was </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be—Stern felt like that was what this was. He choked with tears as his fingers reflexively twitched along the familiar path to Sunny’s number. Morgenstern openly sobbed as he heard the voice he’d missed for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-Sterny, what—?!” Sunny’s blissfully beautiful, if concerned, voice was heaven to Stern’s ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-Sunny, don’t get mad, please, I-I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh…. Baby, just tell me what’s going on, okay…?” Sunny soothed. Stern hiccupped out a few sobs before cradling the phone to his ear, fingers clutching it tightly. As the golden brother stutteringly explained </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sunny patiently listened. And as he breathlessly finished, Sunny’s continued silence made panic bubble up in his chest, until— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how many times should I stab him? Or would you prefer I sacrificed him to something?” Sunny’s cheerfully dark voice elicited a startled laugh from Stern. He could hear the pout in Sunny’s voice as he grumbled, “Hey, I’m serious! No one hurts my Sterny!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I know you are, Sunny…. I-I just. Gods, I miss you…. A-And I just feel like a piece of shit for calling you about this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love him?” Sunny’s question startled Stern. He went quiet, thought about Pygma’s past harms and his current ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-N….” He shakingly exhaled, before firmly muttering, “No. Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you want him to do that to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s all that matters, right?” Sunny softly whispered over the phone. Stern let out another sob. “Sterny, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he hurt you. But I also know you two were so close…. And it’s okay if you miss what you had before that. And if it were </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>else, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’d be fine with you taking another boyfriend, my precious polyamorous partner~ As long as I made sure they wouldn’t hurt you and we talked. But, no, he’s on my stabbing list. So don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-You’re supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad </span>
  </em>
  <span>at me,” Stern hiccupped out, “Y-You’re supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>h-hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Honestly, Sterny? I’m a little mad. But I’m so happy you </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>me what’s going on. I’m happy you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me, and, yeah, this hurts…. But not as much as you’re going to be~ When I get ahold of you, you won’t be walking for a week.” Sunny’s “threat” made Stern belt out a more genuine laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I look forward to it, my love….” Stern furiously wiped at his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also I’ll stab anyone who hurts you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I know…. Don’t, but I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well can I </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least </span>
  </em>
  <span>stab Pygma?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, believe me when I say there’s a long line to just punch him. And I’m in it, probably second or third up the list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph. Two weeks of no walking, now. And you have to do whatever I say for another two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four weeks of my Sunshine? Sign me up~” Stern sighed longingly as he fell back into the couch cushions. The distant lovers fell into a companionable silence until Sunny tentatively broke it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...So when can those weeks start?” Sunny asked, but Stern knew what he meant—</span>
  <em>
    <span>when can I see you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The winged skeleton’s eyes tiredly dragged to a stack of Pygma-produced magazines. Their titles, “Who is Stern’s New Love?” and the like, just made him heave out a long sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope soon, Sunny. I miss you. So much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I can’t risk him hurting you too….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer clearly disappointed Sunny, but he tried not to let it show as he focused on cheering up his boyfriend. He delighted Stern with excerpts from his day—stories of drama, magic, and darkness. About cult leaders who were so lovey-dovey. About children being taught board games instead of learning rituals. Sunny’s world was finally healing from the scars of his cult’s previous God…. And that made Stern happier than words could describe as he fell asleep to his love’s voice. Emotionally and physically exhausted as he was, he didn’t notice the window crack open. He didn’t see the conversation’s silent observer stand over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They snatched up his phone and disappeared into the night.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stern and Sunny's shipname is Sunburst. And yes. They're both Dreams and one's in a cult. I have a Mob of Mobtale Sanses and this is what you question?!</p><p>Sunny © Purple! https://www.deviantart.com/xthe-purple-glitchx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Called-In Chaos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunny’s words became a balm for every annoyance over the next few days. Every ‘I love you’ echoed along each tender pulse of his hurting heart. Each whispered secret bandaged his brain, and kept the last dregs of sanity from spilling out. It was funny how such a dreaded conversation made Stern just feel <em> so </em>much better. Perhaps it really was a true testament to how much he loved and needed his beloved cultist. The call made him ache for him more, sure. But… Sunny still loved him. And that promise of those “threatened” four weeks fueled Stern, gave new vigor to his fights. </p><p>Pygma’s absence from those proceedings also helped bolster his mood—even if, in the back of his mind, the bronze-winged skeleton knew that only meant the Prince was plotting. </p><p>But, hey. Who has room for thoughts like that while dodging boards, clubs, and baseball bats?</p><p>It was a <em> brutal </em> assault. Wood whistled past his skull. But just as he dodged that? <em> Wham! </em> A golf club cracked into his side. He barely had time to raise his sword against the aluminum bat aiming <em> way </em> too low for comfort. Adrenaline coursed. Bones cracked. Mob members fell. Stern almost lashed out at a back colliding with his own but—silver-blue eyes met with bronze-gold. And Jeri rolled over Stern’s back to slam his staff into Board. He gave Stern enough room to slash at Pipe. They twirled as one. Bronze and blue capes <em> flashed </em>in the fluorescent light of downtown Code-In’s colorful streets. A pained rainbow splashed across the scene. Blood-reds, bruise-blues, neon signs in every hue, and holiday lights all seemed to flash at once.</p><p>Too bright. Too much sound. Not only did the brothers find themselves in a constant trade of blow-on-blow, they also found themselves trapped in a rhythm riddle blaring beneath their feet. It was hell. Like some twisted, tonal game of DDR with <em> lives </em> on the line. Because what was the trademark of the Black Knight? <em> Hostages. </em> And today, he’d decided to lock off a whole <em> hospital. </em> No one got in. No one got out. At least, not until they could tap out the right rhythm to unlock the barrier surrounding the place. It was the deadliest scheme the bastard had concocted—and the brothers <em> had </em> been on their way to help some minor heroes with a rampaging Gourmand! Ugh, the Mob would be no problem on their own. But combined with this puzzle from sensory hell? The difficulty ramped up <em> considerably.  </em></p><p>Still, even when it <em> was </em> two against a hoard? The Mob was comprised of <em> normal </em> Sanses. Powerful and omniscient, yes, when alone in a universe. The final boss for any Frisk. But against two gods of “good” and “evil,” respectively? They. Were. <em> Nothing. </em> Years of fighting together never faded. For before they played their parts as “destined” antagonists, it was always the brothers against the multiverse. And fighting against each other only meant that they knew each other’s capabilities and limits. Stern hit hard and fast. Emotions consumed his combat. And each hit against him only fueled the fire of his avenging strike. Jeri preferred distance. Every movement became part of a fluid, calculated dance in the flow of the fight. He liked finding weaknesses. He <em> loved </em>exploiting them. </p><p>But both brothers found themselves at a disadvantage. Stern’s winged mobility was limited by the constant onslaught. If he tried to take flight now? Something would get broken, if it wasn’t already. Jeri’s tendrils and spell casting became weakened by the sickening positivity rolling off the bloodthirsty Mob members. Happy to hurt, happy to land a blow, happy to serve their master who was gods knew where—he could only hit with his staff and let his rune-armored robes take blows for him. And even when they took one weapon-monikered-member down? Another eagerly hopped into the chaotic fray. </p><p>So even if they were ants? Easily squishable on their own? A colony could take down organisms many times a single ant’s size. And these insects were <em> relentless.  </em></p><p>It. Was. <em> Exhausting.  </em></p><p>But was it odd Stern was enjoying himself? He didn’t do riddles. That was Jeri’s forté. And he knew his brother’s mind was <em> racing </em> to find some pattern in the flashing tiles. But Stern? He could just hit, trust his brother with his back, and let off steam in this mindless, violent dance. Sure, he was mad too. But the whole experience turned a <em> lot </em>more cathartic when he plastered Pygma’s face on each beaten Mob member. </p><p>“You know, you could always purchase hints~ Wait. I’ll give you one for free! You should watch <em> everyone’s </em>steps~ Because just like those counting wrist clocks—every step counts~” The Black Knight’s voice sang across the street from some hidden speaker. Bastard was probably sitting at home, manually controlling puzzle fragments and making sure the barrier around the hospital stayed up. He was probably taking bribes as they spoke. </p><p>“Your nickname makes more and more sense each day, <em> Grand Annoyance!” </em> He spat blood in Prybar’s face before bashing the mafioso’s skull with the flat of his blade. “Jeri I’m getting <em> real </em>tired of this shit!”</p><p>“I’m fucking trying! The Mob’s making so much noise that I can’t think straight. And it doesn’t help that Reporter McGee over there is shouting out how many ambulances are backed up and—” Stern blocked a club from hitting the ranting Jericho. A monkey wrench smashed into his knee as he did. It gave out. He found himself looking up into the panicked face of his younger brother—stress and fear locked behind his metaphorical hero mask. The pure, sadistic glee of the mob members surrounding them only made it harder for the negativity-fueled being. And Jeri was already healing from his last fight with Pygma. So he was slower. Weaker. And the Mob circled them like sharks. They eagerly dove in on the downed Stern. Jericho did his best to block blow after blow. A weak wave of gray tendrils battered them back; they instantly broke. </p><p>There was only one thing left that they could do.</p><p>“Jeri. Trade me,” was all Stern muttered. For while the silver sibling was weak? The golden brother knew one thing. There was an <em> abundance </em> of positivity here. Sick, twisted positivity, yes, but his body made no qualms about absorbing it all the same. The brother’s weapons each had their specialties, and those translated when they changed hands and shapes. In his fear, Jeri didn’t question it. Stern’s golden sword made its way into his hands—it flashed, became a long, elegant rapier. It concentrated the negativity available to it and made a formidable barrier around the moonlit brother…. Jericho’s staff transformed into a spear for Stern. The staff harnessed stored <em> energy. </em> It <b> <em>unleashed</em> </b> <em> it. </em>Thus, the cooler-headed brother, who could temper the use of such raw power, usually wielded it but….</p><p>The moment it touched Stern’s hands, intense heat radiated off of the golden brother. All the joy at landing a blow. All the happiness of cathartic release. The glee of the reporter getting their first big scoop. The awed fans watching the spectacle. The spear absorbed the energy that Stern took from it all. It burned a molten, bronze-gold—and the last thing Club thought was that it glowed like the winged brother’s eyes. </p><p>The street erupted into sun-hued flames.</p><p>Fire had no mercy. Not for melting Mob members, not for singed, screaming reporters—for it only existed as the brilliant energy exploding from the glowing weapon. It didn’t even spare <em> Stern. </em> His hands smoked. They <em> burned </em> from his contact on the spear. And that was why the hot-tempered brother <em> never </em> took Jeri’s staff and made it into his spear. Not only because he couldn’t handle the weapon, unless under extreme duress, but because it made him a self-destructing <em> nuke. </em>As he released the weapon, sounds rushed back. People screamed. Some sobbed. Pain shot through him as he fell to his knees. Blearily, he realized some Mob must have broken his wing. It hurt. His ears rang. Jericho solved the puzzle.</p><p>And… Stern wondered if it was a <em> good </em>thing they’d fought so close to a hospital….</p><p>At least all the collateral damage could… be quickly carted and… treated….</p><p>And… he wondered….</p><p>If he should… call… Sunny….</p><p>But he’d have to find his phone and….</p><p>….</p><p>…</p><p>..</p><p>He passed out in his little brother’s arms.</p><p>***</p><p>Meanwhile... in a screen-lit room right above the battlefield.... The Don puffed out a cloud of smoke into the dark room. The Black Knight couldn’t help but muse that he looked rather like an irritated dragon. Everybody knew the guy had enough money to have his own hoard.</p><p>“This better have been fucking worth it.” The clean-suited skeleton grit his teeth. “The <em> amount </em>of my men that I’m going to need to buy out of jail or pull favors for? Not to mention how many are out of commission? It’s fucking ludicrous.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll recover.” BK laughed, starting to shut down the wall of computers before them. Views of the street winked out. The room slowly plunged into darkness. “Besides. If things go down like he said…. Then we’re going to have our fill. And you’ll be able to put more mob members into your pockets. Plus, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take a few patients if you get him some nice complimentary wine.”</p><p>“Psh. Yeah sure…. As if I want to owe that bastard.” He rolled his eyes. As the last screen winked out, the ember of Shovel’s cigar and the bright white to his eye light became the only luminescence that BK could see. “But if even the Headcouncilman can’t control Pygma, what the hell makes <em> him </em> think he can?”</p><p>“Well….” The little puzzle master shrugged. “They have been friends longer than he has been with me…. Besides. Love is quite the motivator, no~?”</p><p>Seemingly unsatisfied by the response, Don Shovel snorted. The ember lit up his face one last time. And then only the fragrant smell of his cigar smoke lingered in the room… as he teleported away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Aesthetics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we get a tour of Stern's apartment...? But there's more to it than that.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Morning Sunshine! I just wanted to say thank you for last night. Sorry I fell asleep though. Guess your voice is just that soothing! But. Well. Calling you made me realize how much I miss you. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask this sooner, with all this shit with Pygma, but can you come over for a few hours? I just really want to see you. Love you! -Your Sterny</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern’s apartment consisted of elegantly arranged furniture and decorations. It felt more like a mix of modern chic and a wood cabin impossibly set into the Outercode Highrise. A plush red couch sat back against a wood-panelled wall. Just above the couch, muted green frames housed the posters of the brothers’ colorful exploits. Steps lead up to a loft lit by rock salt lamps. He flicked them on, one by one, to see their soft, warm glow spill over the simple sleeping space…. Thick, soft blankets covered a bed big enough for two. Clothes and costumes hung out of the modestly sized closet packed to the brim. Just beneath the loft, the door to the sewing room stood ajar. It gave a slivered view of Stern’s sewing room, which, as it always did, fell into a state of organized chaos during a project.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the golden brother’s posing mannequins stood pinned-up in the middle of the living room’s wood floor. A trail of cloth swaths made its way to it. Maybe the idea came to him into the night. Maybe he tossed and turned before he decided he just couldn’t leave it alone. Like an artist caught in an inspired fervor and desperate not to lose the picture within his mind, he must have leapt from the loft to pin his ideas into place…. Just over the faux model’s shoulder, fairy lights lit up a zen rock garden. A rake lay haphazardly abandoned in the patterned gravel. The flowers wilted slightly. An old cup of coffee lay cold on the deck chair that Stern curled up in to watch the sun rise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was… an odd disconnect, looking on the room he hadn’t been in for so long. Stern’s kitchen still remained largely unused, for example. He never really used it unless company came over, and there were few people Stern trusted enough to know where he lived. But the well-stocked alcohol cabinets seemed drained dry. The shining bottles glistened in their hastily-shoved-away disarray. Rotting limes and oranges lay split on the cutting board. Some were cut into almost professional shapes… into wedges and slices that could more easily fit on the tipped glass sticking to the marble counter. The sharp scent of spilled alcohol didn’t mix well with the sickly-sweet aroma of spoiled fruit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a smoky scent he couldn’t quite place. A perfect, singed circle stood in the corner next to the TV. What had that been from? And what outfit had Stern been working on? He traced his fingers over the hastily pinned splashes of fabric. He just… felt so far away. Because Stern </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>chattered so excitedly about his projects. The fact he didn’t know just…. It was like the story of Stern’s life just </span>
  <em>
    <span>went on. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There were pages he’d never see. There were probably whole chapters he’d never be a part of. And it was just those </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>details that really made him realize that much…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A light layer of dust settled on the bookshelves. Movies stood rearranged. The flower that once stood potted on a little pedestal was now planted in the zen garden. Sheets on the bed smelled like Stern, still--lemon balm, sweat, and some subtle, sharp tinge. But. That smoky scent was there too…. Faint and biting, with a slight bloody balm and just the merest hint of fresh cut grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly that smoky scent grew stronger as the char-black circle lit up with hellish-red flames. With the sheets pressed so close to his nose, he could almost imagine what the cloaked figure below him and Stern must smell like together. A field that’d just recovered from a battlefield fire sprung to his mind…. The lemon balm leaves mixed with the new blades of grass. It was a healing smell…. One that spoke of damaged people recovering together. Would his own lavender, nail polish, flowery musk mix well into that field? Would it just be parasitic? Would it choke out the delicate sprigs of the new plants twining together towards the sun…?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would that be so bad?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sterny?” Sunny, Sunshine, the rusty-red Dream--he called out so cautiously. He pulled a knife from the pocket of his robe. It glittered so cheerfully in the fairy lights’ scattered halo. Bloody-gold eyes steadily scanned the room. And the slightly taller skeleton jumped as he saw the posing mannequin’s shadow. Those slitted eye lights rolled slightly. But he didn’t relax. Maybe he just sensed something was wrong. Maybe he was just a paranoid guy. Maybe he had some sort of sixth sense. Well, the silent observer certainly didn’t know his capabilities. He’d be interested to learn… how they stacked up to his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunny slowly stalked into the kitchen. And as he slowly, quietly tapped around in there… the sheets dropped with a gentle crinkle. Barely a rustle rang out before Sunny ran back into the living room, bloody-gold eyes locking on the loft--but no one was there. He kept his knife up. The edge defensively held before him. He strained to hear any movement. His whole body tensed like a snake ready to strike. His breaths came out in slow, steady puffs. Sunny stood his ground. The cultish Dream couldn’t see well…. So he let his eye lights wink out. Best not to give the unseen enemy a sight advantage too. He trusted his dried-blood-red cloak to hide him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunny blindly struck out as he heard breathing behind him. His knife dug into the plush flesh of the mannequin. It caught. Not wasting time to get it out, he flipped a hidden knife from his sleeve to stab behind him. Hitting air, he opened his eyes again. Something splashed below him. He barely caught sight of the icy-white pinpricks melting into the ink. The whole floor had turned into a patchwork of wood and black splatters. Well, at least Sunny knew he wasn’t crazy--well, more crazy. But he wasn’t going to stay on the ground. The guy could clearly pop out from the puddles, and do Gods only knew what else with them. So Sunny muttered something in a harsh, ancient language. A red glow surrounded him. He scrambled up the wall, posters clattering off in his haste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His harsh, bloody-gold eyes scanned around. It fell quiet again…. Eerily, eerily silent. Sunny didn’t move. He just strained to hear… anything. Time just crawled by… at a snail’s… pace. But he didn’t let his guard down. The thought didn’t cross his mind that his assailant fled. It wouldn’t make sense. The threat wasn’t gone. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. But Sunny didn’t think about the loft above him. He didn’t think about the crinkling sheets from before…. And how there was another ink splatter. Right. Above. Him. A white blur dove over the railing with a silence-shattering shriek. The sound was abnormally loud. The mere cry fractured the garden’s glass door, cracked the T.V, and made Sunny’s head </span>
  <em>
    <span>ring. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But as Pygma collided with him, Sunny grit his teeth through the pain. He coughed out as they bashed into the couch. They kept rolling, smashed into the floor. Sunny managed to slice Pygma’s eye socket--when had those white eyes become a sickly yellow? Didn’t matter. Pygma shrieked again. The sound was closer. Disorienting. The sides of Sunny’s skull, his “ears,” bled. It made his next strike clumsier. He nicked the smaller’s shoulder. The cult-corrupted Dream </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to slice the vulnerable vertebrae at his throat. The bastard punched his already ringing skull. Sunny felt blood trickle down his nasal cavity. Those surprisingly strong hands tried to lurch forward, pin his wrists. He bashed his head into Pygma’s skull. Struggling, struggling--get him off, get him off, too vulnerable! Pygma straddled Sunny. His his of pain sounded more like a demented dog whistle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too pitched. Too loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Sunny relentlessly thrashed. Even if the sound dazed him, he--his wrists sunk back into the ink. Shit! As Pygma pulled away, the black substance locked Sunny’s wrists above his head. Snarling, he squirmed and squirmed. He. Couldn’t. Get. Up…! But he could make this difficult. He could still hurt him. Sunny lurched forward as far as he could and sunk his teeth into Pygma’s retreating arm. Pygma screamed. The magically magnified sound made the very </span>
  <em>
    <span>room </span>
  </em>
  <span>vibrate. Sunny’s vision </span>
  <em>
    <span>swam. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Smacking, punching, the smaller skeleton tried to do anything to get him to let go. But he held on. He kicked at Pygma too. He kicked and twisted and, damn it, tried to come away with a chunk of bone if he could!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Pygma. Kept. Shrieking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And eventually? Sunny found his jaw disconnected by a particularly harsh punch. He couldn’t feel the crack in his skull. But he heard it. He saw his black-red blood mix with the puddle of ink beneath him. It. Stained his cloak…. The cloak Sterny… liked stealing…. But. Even as his vision blurred. Sunny had one. Last. Option. As Pygma pulled away, thinking he’d won… Sunny locked eyes with him. Those sickly sunflower orbs widened. Tears started to trickle. And the Punk Prince </span>
  <em>
    <span>froze. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Good. Good…! Sunny didn’t know what he’d been reaching behind his back for. Didn’t want to know. He just had to stay awake. Just keep him trapped in his gaze… in the illusion it made….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For there were not many Dream-based abilities that the corrupted-gold guardian kept. Largely, his forced oath to his old god only gave him dark powers that became unstable with his emotions. He could trust his knives more than the unpredictable forces clashing within him. But the one thing he had kept? The black magic of his former god </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>twisted </em>
  </b>
  <span>it into something more sinister. For where once people could look into Sunny’s eyes and find hope? They now only saw that which they regretted they didn’t have…. A false hope, a cruel illusion--Stern once jokingly called it Sunny’s “remorse vision.” And the deeper the regret? The harder it was to get out, to break your gaze from Sunny’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given that Pygma couldn’t pull away? It must be something fairly great…. But it wasn’t like the vision was infallible. Again, people could just break away if they were strong enough. Sunny also couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>blink </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he used it. He had to focus, had to draw his victim deeper and deeper into their regret. He had to let the black magic </span>
  <em>
    <span>worm </span>
  </em>
  <span>into their very being. And in a clash of blow-on-blow, that wasn’t always advantageous. Especially in a group scenario. But for now…. He had to… stay awake…! If he did, if he could--</span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>would come for them. They’d made so much noise. There was no way that someone hadn’t called the cops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Sunny forced himself not to blink as Pygma’s tears trickled into his own sockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his head… hurt….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His vision… swam…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Sunny’s eyes, Pygma saw himself laughing, burrowed into Stern’s powerful embrace. It was the kind of hug where Stern’s very grip showed how much he loved him--as though his Prince was so precious, so dear, that he couldn’t bear to let him go. That he needed him close, needed to cling to him, touch every part of him. He could just barely make out… a crib behind them…. A paint-splattered hand waved about a microphone-mimicking rattle. And. As he got closer… they had white wings and Mo’s eyes. Golden eyes burnished white…. A perfect mix of the two. White wings burnished gold at the tips…. He could almost taste the little one’s name on his tongue but--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pygma shook his head as the vision crashed down around him. Dazed, he put a hand to his aching skull. And looked down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood loss robbed Sunny of consciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirens sang in the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Pymga didn’t even blink as he dragged the cultish Dream into the inky depths…. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The creepiest thing about writing this chapter was just having Pygma slowly walk through everything and observe it. He notices all the new little details.... And just the idea of this psycho artist going through Stern's things is. *shudders* Oof, I wrote it and I'm still kinda disturbed. So yaaaaaaay.</p><p>Well if y'all didn't think Pygma was yandere before, how about now?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Trickling Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Stern hates when things go fast, when things go slow—he just wants his boyfriend to call him back.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes Stern felt like his life never stopped. His day in the hospital blurred into Code Guard inquiries, Odie explaining the death toll and collateral damage, reporters trying to bust in for a quote, Siri kicking fans out, Jeri being sedated when he tried to leave early—it was just so much. The bronze-winged skeleton could barely keep up. Walls pressed in. Faces loomed. By the time he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his first thought became calling Sunny. But then he remembered he didn’t have his phone. And, okay, he could leave things behind when he got excited or emotional. That was pretty normal. Stern figured he’d call from the hospital phone—no response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. He’d leave a voicemail. Sunny might not pick up for an unknown number. Fine. That was fine. Stern didn’t do that either. But an hour passed—or was it less? Time. Went. By. So. Slowly. Okay, but maybe it was late. Maybe he didn’t hear his phone go off. But Sunny slept so light. He’d check it. Right? There was no way he’d ignore him. Not Sunny. Not after that last call. Even if he was in a bad mood. No. Something had to be wrong. Maybe he was just busy? Maybe the cult was having issues? An attack? What if Sunny was hurt—?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be resting and healing.” Those bronze-gold eyes snapped to ruby-pearl. Wait, when did it get dark? Outercode’s stars speckled behind Siri’s silhouette. He sat beside Jeri, holding his limp hand as he slept. “I can hear your anxiety from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Sunny hasn’t answered my calls.” Stern glanced away from those tired, mismatched eyes. Sirius sighed. He reached out to pat the golden brother’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, staying awake will only make your beau scold you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I wish he’d do it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sirius—</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Stern’s irises flashed with a warning. The little bodyguard just rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stern. Seriously. You need to sleep. Or else you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jeri will make you do it in the morning, and then Sunny will call </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>when he’s awake. And if Odie’s not mad at you </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he will be if you let a rampaging cultist tear apart the city to find your sorry ass. So you anxious ball of fried nerves… let me be the one Jer yells at in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Kinky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Gods damn it, Siri—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The banter continued for a few moments more. And then Siri fell pointedly silent. Stern sighed as he tried to push down the nagging thoughts. The feeling that something was wrong persisted. But… he did need rest. He did need to heal. The green magic dripping through the IV and into his marrow would work better if he just… closed his eyes. His broken wing ached. It was slowly mending…. The wounds and bruises on his body slowly sealed. Everything was so slow after the rush of the day. But. Maybe… a few hours would make him better equipped… for whatever shit he had to deal with… in the morning….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Siri smiled as he heard Stern’s trademark, wall-shaking snore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got released. Nothing happened. They went through a press conference. A condolence speech. A meeting with Odie. Still, nothing happened. But it was the lack of action that disturbed Stern. It was the fact that everything </span>
  <em>
    <span>seemed </span>
  </em>
  <span>fine. That feeling carried on until they got home. He was all ready to tear apart the house to look for his phone, if not teleport to Sunny’s place himself—when Jeri anticlimactically lifted a couch cushion to reveal the missing device. Stern pounced on it before his little brother could tease him. He ran upstairs. He fumbled with his charger. Like a man possessed, he watched the battery fill….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flash! The screen came on. He had a message. From Sunny! Oh. Oh please say he was just busy or something. Please. Please be okay. A video? Why did Sunny send him a video? His thumb smashed the play button—the screen was dark. It was quiet… save for the sound of dripping water, of phalanges clacking against the phone. A cold pit of dread opened in Stern’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this thing on? I think it’s—oh, it’s facing the wrong way.” The phone shuddered under a painted-pink phalange. The view switched. A golden piercing glittered in the fuzzy focus. The camera jostled again. A fur coat flashed against a dark background. And—no. Please no. “Now I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re thinking—”</span>
</p><p><em><span>I want to throw you off of a roof into a giant, lemon-filled blender on the lowest speed so I can watch you slowly be ground to bits.</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <span>“—but your Sunshine is </span><em><span>fine. </span></em><span>A little dinged up, but fine. Right Sunny?” Pygma pat the rusty-cloaked Dream’s cheek, his fingers staining with the green liquor trickling from his teeth. Sunny only let out a growly-groan in response. Stern’s heart ached as he saw the stained bandages wrapped expertly around his head. “He really is a feisty one! I can see why you like him. But short, spitfire dom’s always been your type, hasn’t it? Ah. I’m getting off-track~ I’m sure you’re wondering how to get him back.”</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Give him back. Now. I want to hug him and hold him and make sure he’s okay…! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve come up with a fun way to do so too! Do you like treasure hunts? Well. It doesn’t matter if you don’t. I know you’ll do anything to get this prize back. Hell,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to keep him. If I didn’t think he’d bite my fingers off. Or worse.” </span>
</p><p><em><span>Fucking—of </span></em><b>course</b> <em><span>he would. </span></em><span>If Stern wasn’t so laser-focused on watching each of Sunny’s haggard breaths, he might have seen the bandages covering Pygma. He might have smirked. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Now, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you in my favorite outfit. And I want you to wear it at my favorite place to see you wear it…. You’ll find your first clue there~” Pygma leaned over and kissed Sunny’s cheek—and the little cultist bashed his skull into the smaller psycho’s. Pygma cursed. The camera fell over.There were a few seconds of struggling and then… the camera flipped. Blood trickled down Pygma’s nasal cavity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern’s lips twitched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of his body felt too numb to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh and don’t bring anyone with you. Tell no one. All that villain-y shit. Toooodles~” Pygma blew a kiss at the screen. And Stern got one last look at his bound love… before everything went black.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Nostalgia Rollercoaster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we're dragged down memory lane to see Stern and Pygma's old relationship.... And Stern's not enjoying the ride.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: some suggestive language/implied things, but nothing that warrants NSFW. Also magic skeleton logic. Also flashback galore, if you didn't get that much from the title.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>“Ooooh, somebody cleans up nicely~” A well-manicured hand smacked across the dark jeans hugging Stern’s pelvis. The golden brother spluttered as that hand stayed, tugging him into a pearly-ecto waist. Pygma, despite his size, maneuvered Stern with ease. He turned him like Stern would twirl his posing dolls, assessing each part of an outfit to make sure it fit well. Pygma seemed to be pleased by this particular fit.... He gently turned Stern to face him, nuzzling into his chest and hugging him close. The smaller’s grip softened into a light, possessive caress. “You’re even wearing the letterman jacket I bought you! Aww, Babe~</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <em><span>“Well, it’s comfy.” Stern managed to relax despite the proximity, despite Pygma’s hands still resting on his pelvis. His own phalanges came to rest on his boyfriend’s waist. He shivered as Pygma’s, on the other </span></em><b>hand</b><em><span>,</span></em> <em><span>started to wander. “P-Prince, we’re in publi—hhk!”</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh </span>
  </em>
  <b>relax</b>
  <em>
    <span>, Mo…. I’m </span>
  </em>
  <b>just </b>
  <em>
    <span>fixing your collar~” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh you know that’s bullsh—hhhit!” Stern flushed as Pymga lightly tugged him into their favorite booth, nuzzling into his side immediately. He did stop those trailing hands, but…. They both knew Stern liked it. He loved feeling so appreciated by his lover. He loved making him happy….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Keep the jacket on when we make it back to my place.” Pygma’s smirk matched the devious look in his eyes. “</span>
  </em>
  <b>Just </b>
  <em>
    <span>the jacket.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And so Stern did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern… wasn’t sure why he kept the old letterman. It was pretty beat up. The sun insignia emblazoned over his chest was starting to fade. And no matter </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>he did, it wouldn’t stop smelling like lavender and nail polish. That probably had been Pymga’s goal, that one night…. He seemed so enamored with touching the jacket, using it in all manner of ways to just—just—</span>
  <em>
    <span>control </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. And it just… it felt like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>brand </span>
  </em>
  <span>against his bones. And Stern loved clothes. He hated throwing them away. So he </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried </span>
  </em>
  <span>to just forget the association with the jacket he still liked but…. Whenever he wore it, it felt like a hot iron leaving its acrid mark against him. He couldn’t just leave it against the bone, either. It was too loose. He’d have to keep his liquid-gold ecto summoned to make it fit right…. Probably, again, on </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knew Pygma loved seeing it. Touching it. Calculated, as usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mere brush of the fabric against the magic muscle reminded him of the possessive way Pygma always held him when they were together. It almost felt like too much… almost. Because Pygma had been right on one thing—he’d bear through anything for his Sunny. For those hands that didn’t seek to control, but to care for. For those eyes that didn’t devour, but looked on him like something so precious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the jacket paired with their old favorite bar was…. Stern shivered. Pygma always liked finding bars beyond the standard Grillby assortment. And this one was no different. The bar’s face lay worn and seemed to try and mimic a shipwreck. Portholes glowed with a warm light, day and night. Run by a Shyren-Aaron duo, the place specialized in tropical drinks and fish-based snacks. Stern always liked their seaweed salads. Pygma gagged at it. But they both loved the raucous atmosphere when Undynes came crashing in, the chic-and-tumble atmosphere, and the good food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They always went by their incognito aliases here—Mo and Prince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been back since the break-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shakily, Stern inhaled, exhaled. And—he was startled to find a drink sliding across the bar towards him the moment he stepped in. The octopus bartender’s arms busied about, prepping drinks for other afternoon customers. With lightning speed, he whisked them their favorite beverages faster than they could even ask for them. Pygma used to say that as fun as the typical fire elemental bartender was, no one could beat Onion-22’s skills. And the novelty of an octopus serving drinks just couldn’t be beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite himself, Stern found himself smiling. He shot back the pink-red drink. Strawberry and peach rushed down his throat to the tune of a stinging vodka. His eyes slid shut as he crunched on the ice and devoured the fruit on the rim. He almost found himself relaxing. The low murmurs and soft speech preluding the nightly chaos just… made him wish for better times. When he could lean into the soft fur of the bundle of sass he felt could safely get him home. Tears started budding in his eyes. They trickled down through the glass, carving little trails into the ice. His hands shook as he finished his drink, nursing it as though he could savor the happy memories. Just a little longer—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bit of metal clinked against his teeth as he reached the bottom of the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It brought reality crashing back. And he wanted to cry for an entirely different reason now…. He fished out the offending object. A colorful guitar pick? Little abstract flowers trailed across the shining surface. And he was confused at first but…. Quickly, he thanked O-22 with a massive tip of, well, he didn’t really count his gold coins out. He disappeared in a shower of golden sparks that looked so out-of-place in his next destination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shimmering lights glittered off of a mosaic of dead grass, broken glass, and crushed cans. The rot of spilled alcohol and numerous unknown liquids became a gag-worthy mixed miasma. Yet Stern could still remember when it was, at least, filled with shouting bodies and flashing lights. The park used to be… well, the quality never changed. But his memories were filled with the rosy-tint of glowsticks and music. The night masked any flaws in the park. Now? In the light? He could barely recognize it. Ever pervaded by the cloying scent of smokers passed, the park fell into the worst kind of disrepair. It seemed like a shadow of its former self. But Stern could still see the skeletal remains of the old stage….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing around, Stern realized it was the one thing left to commemorate anything between him and Pygma. Exhaling, he covered his nose as he hopped onto the rotting wood structure—his foot fell through. Cursing, he pulled himself out, fell through the mildewy curtains, twisted backstage to escape them. And he fell against an old, old, stained box. His breath hitched at the sight of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Music blared—a passionate pulse thundering through his core. A crowd roared. And Stern wondered if they could see him as he peeked through the curtains. Pygma was </span>
  </em>
  <b>rocking </b>
  <em>
    <span>his first big gig. His Fans were losing it. And he just looked so happy as he threaded his fingers across his guitar. Gods, Stern felt so proud. His best friend had been working so hard to get to this point. Now look at him! Pygma caught his eye just as he finished up his last song. His fans screamed. And Pygma blew them a kiss before swishing his way backstage… and tackling Stern in a hug.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“OhMyGodDidYouSeeMeIDidIt!” Pygma gushed, burrowing into the taller skeleton’s embrace. Stern laughed as he twirled the little skeleton around in a tight embrace. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You were amazing! See? I told you you didn’t have to worry. Aww, Pyg, you just—damn it, you did so—agh, I can’t even! I’m so happy for you!” Stern nuzzled into him. Pygma laughed as he tried to get out of his cheerful friend’s embrace. Except his squirming tripped him up, made him fall against a costume box. And before either of them realized what was happening? Pygma’s teeth connected with Stern’s. They both froze. Both blushed. Pygma was the first to pull away. He blushed </span>
  </em>
  <b>further </b>
  <em>
    <span>at their position. His hands on Stern’s shoulders, his body flung across the golden skeleton’s. And Stern just looked so stunned, his face a burnished, blushing gold. Their faces. So close.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Punk Prince started stammering out an apology, only to find it stolen as Stern pressed up into his teeth again. Pygma’s eyes fluttered shut. And this time, Stern pulled away to try and apologize. But Pygma chased him back down to press their teeth together more firmly. Stern </span>
  </em>
  <b>melted. </b>
  <em>
    <span>His wings came up to wrap around Pygma, as though hiding their innocent intimacy from the world…. Or, at least, any of their stage workers. As they eventually parted, they heard the shouts of, “Encore, encore,” pulsing through the crowd. Stern reluctantly released him. But Pygma didn’t let go.The golden brother looked confused before Pygma kissed his forehead. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re right. This should have an encore. Go on a date with me. Next Friday, 8 PM sharp.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I uh. Where?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll let you know~” Pygma tapped Stern’s teeth. He started to get up. Stern fumbled in his pocket and held out the floral guitar chip. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I uh. For love—luck, I meant luck!” He stammered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pygma just smiled so adoringly as he took the simple gift….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern shakily stood, clutching the “lucky pick” that Pygma used from then on. Gods. That was when they stopped dancing around their feelings. When they finally decided to just go for it—or </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>did. He’d been so nervous. He thought Pygma might push him away. But… he didn’t. He sighed, sitting next to the old box. At least he’d cried out all his tears at the bar. It was still a damn shame that such a happy memory had rotted away to something so disgusting…. Just like the stage, just like the park.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the next clue was easy enough to find. Rifling around in the box, it was hard to miss the glimmering gold buried in the rubble of the box. The object’s mere sight stabbed through his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods, he wasn’t looking forward to this….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gathering more magic, he teleported to a place where lavender and nail polish pervaded every pink fluffy carpet and obnoxious wall print. And Outercode spread beneath the wide, wide windows. A sunset bathed it. It made every object in the room silhouette against the brilliant orange hues. There was the vanity surrounded by stage lights. Pygma and Stern used to spend hours there, giggling over giving each other makeovers. There was the couch, a place of cuddled movie nights and searing intimacy. That long red carpet that they’d turn into a runway, showing off Stern’s outfits he’d made for the both of them. Pictures of their exploits gleamed against the walls. In every facet of this place, he could see his Prince’s smile, hear his laugh, almost feel his </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern wrapped his arms around himself—only to feel the fabric of his coat. Lavender and nail polish. Lavender. Surrounded by it. Covered in it. Coated in it. He. He needed to focus. Find Sunny. Get out! Was the hunt over? Was he here? Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pygma? </span>
  </em>
  <span>H-He just wanted—</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>His footsteps crunched over broken glass. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>His trembling eye lights glanced down….</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Damn it, Pygma! Why—just—why?! Why did you publish those things? I-I—I told you those in confidence—!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You never told me I </span>
  </em>
  <b>couldn’t. </b>
  <em>
    <span>Besides, you tell Jeri things about me—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jeri isn’t a </span>
  </em>
  <b>fucking </b>
  <b>
    <em>ARMY </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>of reporters ready to hound me about my alcoholism, polyamory, o-or my self-confidence issues or my fears! I can trust him. I trusted </span>
  </em>
  <b>you</b>
  <em>
    <span>!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m fucking sorry, okay? I didn’t think—!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. You didn’t!” His fist slammed into the wall, sending Pygma’s favorite picture of them crashing to the ground. “You never think about </span>
  </em>
  <b>me. </b>
  <em>
    <span>It’s always about </span>
  </em>
  <b>you. </b>
  <em>
    <span>What you want. You, you, you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“S-Stern, where are you—?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not coming back here, that’s for sure. And you—you know what? Fucking </span>
  </em>
  <b>here.</b>
  <span>” </span>
  <em>
    <span>He chucked something gold and glittering at Pygma’s head. Pygma fumbled to catch… a small, golden ring. Little wings and a microphone were elegantly engraved into the outside. And on the inside, the words “You are my soul’s music,” lay in Stern’s own, sloping handwriting. Stern looked up to the shell-shocked Pygma with tears in his eyes. “It’d probably just end up in a fucking magazine anyway.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stern had never waited to hear what Pygma had to say. He just went home, sobbing to his brother about how it’d happened again. He’d laid his emotions bare to someone he thought he could trust and… was torn apart. Again. Again. And now he was paying the price for that mistake. Jeri had had to call the shipwreck bar in Stern’s stead to cancel their reservation… cancel all those romantic plans… leading up to giving Pygma the ring. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’d found out about the exposed secrets just before he’d gone to get his rented suit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the present, Stern closed his eyes and shook. When he’d first trusted his emotions to someone, long before Pygma crushed his trust again, he’d only lost his home. This time…. He could lose so much more. Steadying his breath, clutching his phone to calm himself, he stepped towards the room he’d dreaded entering. The bedroom. And maybe more memories would have sprung to mind but—”Sunny!” Stern immediately rushed to the figure clad in rusty-red against the sunset orange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t hear the </span>
  <em>
    <span>click. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He screamed as the explosion shattered his wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunny’s body ragdolled out beyond his reach… as they both started to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fall. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yup. Stern was planning on proposing to Pygma. Just let that siiiiink in.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Morgenstern, Pygma, and Jericho belong to me! If you want to see their designs, check out these pages:</p><p>Pygma: https://www.deviantart.com/kiwicalamity/art/Pygma-Ref-Sheet-832108761</p><p>Stern: https://www.deviantart.com/kiwicalamity/art/Morgenstern-s-First-Appearance-828733538</p><p>Jericho: WIP</p></blockquote></div></div>
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